THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


B£& 


GIFT  OF 

Mary  Randall 


• 


V   '       : 


BY  LUCY  ELLEN  GUERNSEY. 


HISTORICAL,   STORIES. 

Through  Unknown  Ways;   OB,  THE 

BOOKS    OF  MISTRESS  DORATHEA  STUDLEY.     12mo. 
Cloth " $1.50 

Loveday's  History :  A  STORY  OF  MANY  CHANGES. 

12mo.    Cloth 1.50 

The  Foster- Sisters;  OR,  LUCY  CORBET'S  CHRON- 
ICLE.   12mo.    Cloth 1.50 

Winifred ;  OR,  AFTER  MANY  DAYS.    12mo.    Cloth  .    1.25 

Lady  Betty's   Governess;    OK,  THE  CORBET 

CHRONICLES.    12mo.    Cloth 1.25 

Lady  Rosamond's  Book :  BEING  A  SECOND  PART 
OF  THE  STANTON-CORBET  CHRONICLES.   12mo.  Cloth.     1.25 

The  Chevalier's  Daughter:  BEING  ONE  OF  THE. 

STANTON-COUBET  CHRONICLES.      12mo.      Clolh   .      .      .      1.50 


Oldham ;  OR,  BESIDE  ALL  WATEJBS.    12mo.    Cloth   .  1.50 
Milly ;  OR,  THE  HIDDEN  CROSS.    12mo.    Cloth .    .    .  1.00 
Christmas  at   Cedar   Hill :   A  HOLIDAY  STORY- 
BOOK.   16nx>.    Cloth 1.00 

The  Child's  Treasure.    I6mo.    Cloth 90 

The  School-Girl's  Treasury;  OR,  STORIES  FOR 

THOUGHTFUL  GIRLS.    16mo.    Cloth j)Q 

***  Copiet  mailed,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price* 


THOMAS    WHITTAKER, 
2  and  3  Bible  House  .  .  New  York. 


Winifred ; 


OR, 


"AFTER    MANY    DAYS 


BY 

LUCY    ELLEN 

W-- 

AUTHOR  OF  "IRISH  AMY,"  "LADY  BETTY'S  GOVERNESS,' 
"SCHOOL-GIRL'S  TREASURY,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW- YORK  : 
THOMAS     WHIT  TAKER, 

No.  2  BIBLE  HOUSE. 


Copyright,  1869,  by 

'THE     PROTESTANT     EPISCOPAL     SOCIETY     FOB    THE    PEOMOTION 
OF    EVANGELICAL    KNOWLEDGE," 

In  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


GIFT 


PREFACE. 


THE  reigns  of  Charles  the  Second  and  his 
unfortunate  brother  are  certainly  among  the 
darkest  pages  of  English  history.  There  pro- 
bably was  never  a  time  in  England  when  vice 
was  more  rampant  and  unblushing,  or  morality 
at  a  much  lover  ebb  among  courtiers  and  place- 
men of  every  name;  yet  I  believe  whoever 
takes  the  manners  of  the  court  as  a  fair  sam- 
ple of  those  of  the  kingdom  wiU  make  a  great 
mistake  —  as  great  as  that  of  certain  modern 
American  writers  who  talk  of  a  small  number 
of  frivolous  city  ladios  as  if  they  represented 
the  whole  body  of  American  women.  The  trutli 
seems  to  be  that  even  in  the  court  itself  wer? 
to  be  found  some  shining  instances  of  virtue 


6  TKEFACE. 

both  among  men  and  women ;  and  that  among 
the  body  of  the  people  were  many  devout  Chris- 
tians seems  to  be  proved  by  the  great  number 
and  ready  sale  of  books  inculcating  the  most 
exalted  purity  and  spirituality.  It  is  this  bright 
side  of  the  picture  that  I  have  attempted  to 
display  in  the  following  pages.  Should  they 
prove  acceptable,  I  may  follow  them  with  others 
illustrative  of  different  points  of  English  his- 
torj. 

L.  E.  G 


WINIFRED: 

A  STORY  OF  MONMOUTH'S  EEBELLION 

CHAPTER    I. 
JACK'S    GHOST. 

IT  was  nearly  two  months  after  the  battle  c/ 
Sedgemoor,  which  was  fought  on  the  6th  of  July, 
1685,  between  the  forces  of  James  the  Second, 
King  of  England,  and  those  of  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth,  his  illegitimate  nephew,  who  laid  claim  to 
the  crown.  Monmouth  was  without  the  shadow 
of  right  upon  his  side,  and  was  utterly  unsupport- 
ed, save  by  a  few  political  exiles  and  adventurers 
as  reckless  as  himself.  He  had  hoped  that  as  soon 
as  he  landed  the  gentry  of  the  western  counties 
would  flock  to  his  standard,  but  in  this  he  was 
mistaken.  Nobody  joined  him  but  the  country 
people,  and  a  few  prominent  dissenters  who  were 


8  WINIFIiED. 

misled  by  their  hatred  of  popery  and  their  dread 
and  dislike  of  the  reigning  king. 

After  some  weeks  of  aimless  marching  and  coun- 
ter-marching, of  foolish  proclamations  and  sense- 
less quarrels  among  themselves,  the  forces  of  Mon- 
mouth  encountered  those  of  King  James  upon 
Sedgeinoor,  not  far  from  Bridgewater  in  Somerset- 
shire, and  were  utterly  defeated,  though  most  of 
liis  raw,  undisciplined  troops  behaved  with  the 
greatest  bravery,  resisting  to  the  very  last,  even 
after  they  were  abandoned  by  their  leader.  Mon- 
mouth  fled,  but  was  soon  taken,  carried  to  London, 
tried,  and  executed. 

No  one  could  blame  King  James  for  putting 
Monmouth  to  death.  He  had  been  guilty  of  high 
treason  in  taking  up  arras  against  the  government, 
and  had  justly  forfeited  his  life  ;  but  nothing  couid 
excuse  the  barbarous  cruelty  exercised  toward  hi? 
followers,  almost  all  of  whom  were  simple  country 
people,  who  had  been  influenced  chiefly  by  personal 
attachment  to  the  duke.  In  Somersetshire  alone 
two  hundred  and  thirty  persons  were  put  to  death. 
Their  bodies  hung  in  chains,  or  their  heads  and 
mangled  corpses,  hoisted  upon  poles,  poisoned  the 
air  of  every  market-place  and  village-green  in  the 
county.  One  poor  half-idiot,  who  had  been  long 


JACK'S  GHOST.  ? 

supported  by  charity,  was  treated  in  this  way  ;  and 
two  aged  women,  one  in  Hampshire  and  one  in 
London,  were  sentenced  to  be  burned  alive,  merely 
for  sheltering  and  assisting  with  food  and  money 
some  of  the  wretched  fugitives.  Both  were  persons 
of  the  best  character,  noted  for  their  piety  and 
their  active  benevolence.  By  the  urgent  interces- 
sion of  certain  of  the  king's  own  party,  the  sentence 
of  Alice  Lisle  was  changed  from  burning  to  be- 
heading ;  but  Elizabeth  Gaunt  perished  in  the 
flames,  meeting  her  death  with  a  patience  and 
courage  worthy  of  an  ancient  Christian  martyr. 

At  the  time  when  my  story  commences,  Master 
David  Evans  lived  near  a  little  hamlet  called 
Holford,  about  nine  or  ten  miles  from  Bridgewater. 
He  was  a  yeoman,  that  is  to  say,  he  farmed  his  own 
land,  which  had  belonged  to  his  family  for  several 
generations.  Master  Evans  had  received  more 
education  than  most  of  his  neighbors,  even  thoso 
of  higher  rank  than  himself,  and  possessed  what 
hi  that  time  and  place  was  esteemed  quite  a  library, 
that  is  to  say,  he  had  besides  his  great  Bible  and 
Prajer-book,  "The  Whole  Duty  of  Man,"  Fox'a 
"Martyrs,"  and  a  couple  of  odd  volumes  of  Hack- 
luyt's  "  Voyages."  He  was  not  rich,  for  his  land  was 
none  of  the  best,  and  scientific  farming  was  un- 


10  WINIFRED. 

known  in  those  days  ;  but  he  had  always  enough 
and  to  spare,  and  no  poor  person  applying  to  him 
for  help  was  sent  empty  away.  His  principal 
profits  were  derived  from  his  orchards  and  cidei 
presses,  for  which  then  as  now  Somersetshire  was 
famous,  and  from  the  horses  he  raised  for  the 
London  market.  His  elder  son  had  been  appren- 
ticed to  a  shipwright  in  Bristol,  and  was  now  in 
business  for  himself.  The  younger  was  captain  of 
a  fine  vessel  sailing  from  the  same  port,  while  his 
wife  Magdalen  lived  with  her  father-in-law,  kept 
his  house,  and  attended  to  the  dairy  and  poultry 
yard. 

Magdalen  belonged  to  a  good  Devonshire  family, 
which  had  sent  more  than  one  confessor  to  the  rack 
and  the  stake  in  the  time  of  Queen  Mary,  and  had 
borne  a  good  share  in  the  naval  exploits  by  which 
the  men  of  Devon  rendered  themselves  famous 
during  the  next  glorious  reign.  Magdalen  herself 
was  a  woman  of  a  grave  and  earnest  spirit,  scru- 
pulously exact  in  the  performance  of  all  daily  duties, 
kind  and  considerate  to  those  about  her,  and 
thoroughly  imbued  with  that  spirit  of  religious 
devotion  which  had  sustained  her  great-grand- 
mother amid  the  fires  of  Smithfield.  She  had  two 
children.  Jack  was  a  sturdy  boy  of  twelve,  with  a 


JACK'S  GHOST.  11 

great  aptitude  for  fishing,  birds'-nesting,  and  riding 
on  horseback,  and  an  equal  disinclination  for 
learning  of  any  sort,  together  with  a  marvellous 
capacity  for  tearing  his  clothes,  blackening  his 
eyes,  and  getting  into  scrapes  generally.  Winifred 
•was  nearly  three  years  older,  ard  very  much 
resembled  her  mother,  both  in  mind  and  person. 

Master  Evans  had  been  in  no  way  concerned  in 
the  Rebellion.  He  was  not  given  to  politics  at 
any  time,  and  he  looked  upon  the  Duke  of  Mou- 
rn outh's  adventure  with  equal  dislike  and  contempt. 
He  was  a  constant  and  devout  church-goer,  and 
even  his  great  high-tory  neighbor,  Sir  Edward 
Peckham,  could  find  no  other  fault  with  him  than 
that  he  dispensed  his  charities  to  churchman  and 
dissenter  alike,  which  however  was  equally  true  of 
the  vicar  of  the  parish  and  the  Bishop  of  Bath  and 
Wells,  the  learned  and  excellent  Doctor  Ken. 

But  it  did  not  follow  of  course  that  Master  Evans 
was  in  no  danger  during  the  bloody  proscription 
which  followed  the  battle  of  Sedgemoor.  A  great 
many  persons  as  innocent  as  himself  had  been  put 
to  death  by  the  monster  Jeffreys  and  the  almost 
equally  wicked  soldiers  Kirke  and  Faversham.  He 
could  not  go  to  the  parish  church  on  Sunday  with- 
out seeing  over  the  porch  the  ghastly  head  of  his 


12  WINIFRED. 

kind  old  neighbor  and  friend  Master  Oldmixon,, 
who  had  been  hung  for  no  other  crime  than  that 
of  having  been  in  Bridgewater  bargaining  for  the 
Bale  of  his  cheese  on  the  day  before  the  battle,  and 
taking  off  his  hat  to  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  as  he 
passed  by.  Another  neighbor  had  sold  eggs  and 
cider  to  certain  of  the  duke's  officers,  and  for  this 
offence  ho  was  hung  in  chains  at  his  own  house- 
door.  But  Master  Evans  had  thus  far  escaped  pci  • 
secution,  and  as  he  was  not  rich  enough  to  excite 
the  covetousness  of  the  king's  officers,  he  began  to 
hope  he  should  go  entirely  free. 

It  was  about  two  weeks  after  the  conclusion  of 
the  Bloody  Assizes,  as  they  have  ever  since  bt  en 
called,  that  Jack  Evans  was  going  across  the  field 
with  a  basket  in  his  hand,  containing  some  meal,  a 
large  piece  of  cheese,  and  sundry  other  provisions 
which  his  mother  had  sent  him  to  carry  to  a  poor 
widow.  Old  Dame  Sprat  lived  in  a  hovel  on  the 
edge  of  a  waste,  swampy  plain,  partly  overgrown 
with  bushes  and  reeds,  and  to  reach  her  hut  it  was 
necessary  to  pass  through  a  certain  thicket,  called 
the  Black  Copse,  which  bore  no  good  name. 
Strange  sounds  had  been  heard,  and  strange  lights 
Been  glancing  among  the  trees  ;  nay,  it  was  sol- 
emnly declared  that  the  place  was  haunted  by  a 


JACK'S  GHOST.  13 

black  horse  without  a  head,  which  spoke  with  a 
human  voice.  All  country  people  were  supersti- 
tious at  that  time,  and  Jack  was  no  wiser  than  his 
neighbors  in  this  respect,  while  the  terrible  inci- 
dents and  horrible  sights  of  the  last  few  weeks  had 
filled  the  country  with  ghost  stories.  However, 
his  mother  had  commanded,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  obey.  The  afternoon  was  warm 
and  sunny,  and  the  hazel-nuts  were  ripening  in  the 
hedges  ;  and  besides,  Jack,  who  was  really  a  kind- 
hearted  boy,  pitied  the  poor  lonely  old  woman 
who  had  no  one  to  care  for  her.  So  he  went  along 
cheerily  enough,  sometimes  whistling,  sometimes 
singing  an  old  ballad  or  some  sea-song  which  he 
had  learned  from  his  father.  He  was  passing 
through  his  grandfather's  barley  field,  and  had 
nearly  reached  the  stile  at  the  further  end,  when 
he  noticed  with  surprise  that  two  or  three  of  the 
barley  sheaves  had  fallen  down,  and  were  lying 
•*artly  unbound  and  scattered  upon  the  ground. 

"  Who  has  done  that  ?"  said  he  to  himself.  "  I 
wonder  if  the  gypsies  have  been  turning  their  asses 
into  the  field  again?  However,  the  sheaves  must 
not  be  left  like  that,  for  I  think  it  is  coming  on  to 
rain,  and  they  will  all  be  spoiled." 

So  saying,  he  put  down  his  basket  and  set  hin> 


14  WIMFHED. 

self  seriously  to  the  business  of  restoring  ihe  fallen 
barley  to  its  place.  It  was  not  an  easy  task  to 
accomplish  alone,  but  Jack  was  both  strong  and 
skilful  for  a  boy  of  his  age,  and  he  knew  how 
important  it  was  that  not  a  grain  of  this  precious 
barley  should  be  lost  :  so  he  persevered,  and  at 
last  succeeded  in  putting  matters  to  rights. 

He  was  just  fastening  the  band  of  the  last  sheaf, 
when  he  heard  a  sound  which  made  him  spring  to 
his  feet,  with  hair  bristling  and  eyes  almost  start- 
ing from  his  head.  It  was  a  deep  groan,  as  of  a 
person  in  great  distress.  He  listened,  trembling 
in  every  limb.  Presently  he  heard  it  again,  and 
then  a  faint,  hollow  voice,  speaking,  as  it  were,  out 
of  the  ground. 

"  My  good  lad  I"  it  said. 

Jack  waited  to  hear  no  more.  If  truth  must  be 
told,  he  was  at  all  times  an  arrant  coward,  and  the 
horrible  events  of  the  summer  had  made  him 
afraid  of  his  own  shadow.  He  thought  no  more 
of  basket,  barley,  or  Widow  Sprat.  Terror  lent 
him  wings,  and  he  never  paused  to  look  round  or 
breathe  till  he  burst  into  the  kitchen,  where  his 
mother  and  grandfather  were  sitting,  and  fell  flat 
on  the  floor.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could 
Bpeak  so  as  to  be  understood,  and  then  he  told  a 


JACK'S  GHOST.  15 

terrible  tale  of  groans,  and  voices  speaking  out  ol 
the  ground,  of  clattering  hoofs  pursuing  him,  and 
a  white  spectre  as  tall  as  a  chimney  which  waved 
its  arms  over  his  head.  He  could  give  no  account 
of  the  basket,  and  he  declared,  in  his  distress,  that 
he  would  not  go  to  the  Black  Copse  again,  no,  not 
if  they  killed  him.  Indeed  it  was  plain  enough 
that  to  send  him  back  would  be  to  endanger  his 
reason  if  not  his  life. 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  to  doT"  said  Dame  Magdalen, 
very  much  perplexed.  "Your  grandfather  is  ill 
with  rheumatism,  and  the  men  are  all  away.  My 
ankle  is  so  lame  with  the  sprain  I  got  yesterday, 
that  I*  can  hardly  make  shift  to  go  about  house, 
and  Jenny  and  Prissey  would  either  of  them  be 
as  bad  as  Jack  himself.  I  fear  the  poor  old  dame 
will  suffer  for  want  of  food." 

Both  the  maids  declared  that  they  could  not  and 
would  not  go  near  the  Black  Copse  that  night  for 
all  the  world  ;  and  Jenny  added,  "  Not  for  King 
Monmouth  himself,  God  bless  him  I" 

"Hush,  fool!"  said  Master  Evans,  sternly 
"  There  is  more  danger  in  one  such  speech  as  that 
than  in  all  the  ghosts  in  Somersetshire.  Let  me 
never  hear  the  name  of  that  unl  appy  man  spoken 
under  my  roof I" 


16  WINIFRED. 

Jenny  was  caroful  to  put  the  dairy  dcor  between 
herself  and  her  master  before  she  muttered  that 
King  Monmouth  would  come  to  his  own  yet,  iu 
epite  of  them  all. 

"As  for  you,  Jack,  you  had  better  take  your 
Bupper,  and  then  go  to  bed  and  sleep  off  your 
fright,  which  I  dare  say  has  not  taken  away  your 
appetite,"  said  Master  Evans.  "I  do  not  know 
what  you  will  do,  Magdalen.  I  fear  the  poor 
woman  must  go  supperless  to  bed." 

"  I  will  carry  the  basket  to  Dame  Sprat !"  said 
Winifred,  who  had  sat  all  this  time  in  the  chimney- 
corner  without  speaking  a  word. 

"  You,  Winifred !"  said  her  mother,  surprised. 
"But  will  you  not  be  afraid?" 

"No,  mother,  I  do  not  think  there  is  any 
danger,"  replied  Winifred. 

"  Oh,  you  are  wondrous  brave,  Miss  Winifred  1" 
said  Jack,  not  very  well  pleased.  "  Just  wait  till 
you  hear  the  headless  horse  speaking  to  you — 
that's  all!" 

"  It  would  be  so  strange  to  hear  a  horse  speak 
at  all,  that  I  do  not  think  his  not  having  a  head 
would  make  much  difference,5'  replied  Winifred, 
filyly.  "  A  re  you  sure  it  was  a  horse  which  followed 


JACK'S  GHOST.  17 

you,  Jack,  or  did  you  only  hear  the  clattering  of 
your  own  shoes  ?" 

Jack  muttered  something  about  girls  thinking 
they  knew  more  than  any  one  else,  and  followed 
Jenny  into  the  dairy,  that  he  might  enlarge  upon 
his  adventure  to  a  more  credulous  listener. 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  Jack's  goblins. 
Winifred  ?" 

"  No,  mother.  I  have  noticed  before  that  when 
Jack  is  frightened  he  can  never  see  anything  as  it 
really  is.  I  suppose  the  ghost  was  the  old  dead 
tree  in  the  copse,  which  he  has  seen  a  hundred 
times  before,  and  the  groans  he  heard  were  the 
creaking  of  the  branches,  or  perhaps  the  old  red 
cow  who  is  always  grumbling  to  herself.  I  remem- 
ber when  I  had  the  fever  how  the  dame  sat  up  with 
me  and  told  me  tales  all  night  when  I  could  not 
sleep,  and  how  she  made  cool  drinks  for  me,  and 
baskets  of  rushes.  I  always  thought  I  should  like 
to  do  something  for  her  in  return." 

"But  if  you  should  meet  any  of  the  soldiers, 
Winifred  ?" 

"  There  are  no  soldiers  in  the  neighborhood  now, 
mother,"  said  Winifred.  "  Dame  Hodges  has  just 
come  from  Bridgewater  this  morning,  whither  she 

has  been  to  see  her  poor  sou,  and  she  tells  me  the 
2* 


18  WINIFRED. 

soldiers  have  all  gone  away  to  some  other  j.lace, 
with  the  chief-justice.  She  went  to  bid  poor  Sim- 
eon farewell,  but  she  was  not  allowed  even  to  see 
him." 

"Lord  have  mercy  on  him,  poor  creature  !"  said 
Dame  Evans.  "  He  had  hardly  sense  to  tell  hia 
right  hand  from  his  left.  I  do  not  believe  he  even 
knew  upon  which  side  he  was  fighting.  But, 
daughter,  if  you  are  frightened,  what  will  you  do  ? 
It  is  a  long  way  from  any  house." 

"  I  will  say  my  prayers  or  sing  a  psalm,  mo- 
ther," replied  Winifred,  simply.  "  I  think  I  ought 
to  go,"  she  added.  "  I  think  it  would  be  but  right. 
None  of  us  have  been  near  the  dame  for  some  days, 
and  she  may  be  starving." 

"  Give  her  the  basket  and  let  her  go,  Magdalen," 
said  the  old  man.  "She  has  the  spirit  of  thy 
great-grandmother  the  martyr.  May  the  blessing 
of  God  go  with  thee,  child!"  he  added,  laying  his 
hand  upon  her  head.  "  I  will  trust  Him  to  bring 
thee  safe  back  again  ;  but  make  no  further  delay, 
for  it  is  waxing  late,  and  the  days  are  shorter  than 
they  were." 

"And,  Winifred,  you  may  take  this  bottle  ol 
milk  for  the  old  dame,  and  give  a  look  for  the 


JACK'S  GHOST.  19 

other  basket  as  you  pass  tlie  white  elin.     It  will 
doubtless  be  standing  somewhere  about.*' 

Winifred  was  soon  on  her  way  with  her  bottle 
and  a  second  basket  well  filled.  It  may  seem 
strange  that  she  was  so  ready  to  undertake  the  task, 
but  "Winifred  Evans  was  no  common  child.  She 
came  of  a  race  of  heroes  and  confessors,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  she  had  inherited  her  character  from 
them.  Quiet  and  retiring  as  she  ordinarily  was, 
hardly  ever  speaking  unless  when  spoken  to,  ani 
preferring  her  book  or  her  own  thoughts  to  any 
kind  of  play,  she  was  never  known  to  show  a 
particle  of  fear.  Gentle,  patient,  and  ever  ready 
to  yield  to  the  wishes  and  opinions  of  others,  in 
matters  where  right  and  wrong  were  concerned  she 
was  inflexible.  Winifred's  library  was  not  a  large 
one.  There  was  no  Sunday-school  library  in  those 
times  with  its  weekly  supply  of  story-books — no 
magazine  or  illustrated  newspaper.  Her  books 
were  few,  and  those  of  a  character  which  I  fear 
would  hardly  attract  many  of  my  young  readers. 
Her  favorite  volumes  were  the  Bible,  the  "  Book  of 
Martyrs,"  and  an  odd  volume  of  Mr.  Edmund  Spen- 
ser's "  Fairy  Queen,"  which  her  father  had  bought 
for  her  in  Bristol  ;  besides  which  she  read  aloud 
DOW  and  then  to  Mrs.  Alwright  in  Hall's  " 


20  WINIFRED. 

iclo "  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  "  Arcadia  "  Bui 
the  very  fact  that  Winifred  had  access  to  so 
few  books  made  her  prize  more  dearly  and  siudy 
more  attentively  those  she  had.  Over  the  first  ol 
these  especially  she  pondered  for  hours  in  the 
intervals  of  her  daily  tasks,  strengthening  her  spirit 
and  feeding  her  imagination  with  the  glorious 
truths  of  the  one  and  the  beautiful  tales  of  hero- 
ism and  virtue  in  the  others.  In  other  circum- 
stances she  might  have  become  a  mere  luxurious 
dreamer  and  castle-builder,  living  in 'a  world  of  her 
own  fancies,  to  the  neglect  of  real  duties  ;  but  no 
such  result  was  possible  under  the  sensible  and 
energetic  training  of  Dame  Magdalen  Evans.  Ever 
since  Winifred  had  been  able  to  run  alone,  she  had 
had  a  regular  round  of  daily  duties  laid  upon  her, 
for  the  performance  of  which  she  had  been  held 
strictly  accountable.  The  chickens  must  be  fed, 
the  eggs  collected,'  the  daily  task  of  spinning  and 
knitting  duly  performed  ;  and  the  little  girl  was 
taught  to  hallow  these  daily  and  common] >lace 
toils  by  a  spirit  of  religious  consecration. 

Dame  Magdalen  early  made  her  daughter  her 
assistant  in  those  works  of  charity  and  mercy  which 
were  the  delight  of  her  own  heart,  and  Winifred 
at  all  times  a  welcome  visitor  in  the  cottages 


JACK'S  GHOST.  21 

of  their  poor  neighbors,  who  looked  upon  her 
as  a  kind  of  saint.  She  shrank  from  no  toil,  how- 
ever disagreeable,  which  would  benefit  others,  and 
she  sometimes  undertook  tasks  from  which  elder 
people  shrank  in  dismay.  It  was  she  who  first 
gained  access  to  Dame  Oldmixon,  as  she  sat  alone 
in  her  darkened  cottage,  distracted  with  grief  and 
terror  after  the  horrible  death  of  her  husband,  and 
at  first  by  tears  and  caresses,  and  then  by  whis- 
pered prayers  and  verses  of  Scripture,  had  quieted 
the  poor  creature  and  persuaded  her  to  take  some 
food  and  try  to  sleep.  It  was  she  who  by  long  and 
careful  searching  had  recovered  little  Willie  Big- 
gins' silver  sixpence,  just  as  the  child  had  given  up 
the  quest  in  despair,  and  was  going  home  to  the 
whipping  he  was  pretty  certain  to  receive.  It  was 
Winifred  who  penetrated  to  the  awful  presence  of 
Sir  Edward  Peckham  himself,  to  beg  off  the  herd- 
boy  who  was  about  to  be  sent  to  jail  for  robbing 
the  heron's  nest  of  eggs  and  feathers ;  in  which 
enterprise  she  succeeded  so  well  that  she  not  only 
saved  the  lad  from  punishment,  but  was  presented 
with  a  new  silver  piece  by  Sir  Edward  himself,  and 
regaled  with  sweetmeats  by  my  lady,  besides  ob- 
taining the  inestimate  privilege  of  coming  twice 
in  every  week,  and  sometimes  oftener,  to  take  Jes- 


22  WINIFRED. 

sons  in  fine  work  and  confectionery  of  Lady  Peck- 
ham's  waiting  gentlewoman,  Mistress  Alwright. 
Finally,  it  was  Winifred  who  read  the  delinquent 
herd-boy  such  a  lecture  on  the  enormity  of  his 
guilt  in  robbing  the  herons,  that  he  blubbered  over 
it  for  an  hour,  and  promised  never  again  to  take 
what  did  not  belong  to  him.  This  very  day  she 
had  been  to  visit  poor  Dame  Hodges  in  her  afflic- 
tion, and  had  thus  heard  the  news  of  the  depart- 
ure of  the  soldiers  from  Bridge  water. 

Winifred  walked  briskly  along,  now  watching  the 
rooks,  which  were  beginning  to  return  to  their 
nests  in  Holford  Avenue,  and  the  robin  redbreasts 
in  the  hedges  ;  now  musing  upon  something  she 
had  read,  or  repeating  aloud  her  favorite  verses 
and  ballads.  As  she  drew  near  the  place  where 
the  dead  elm  stood  white  and  gaunt  in  the  copse, 
she  began  to  look  about  for  the  basket  which  Jack 
had  left  behind  in  his  terror.  Presently  she  espied 
it  not  far  from  a  tall,  upright  stone  near  the  dead 
tree  I  have  mentioned.  This  stone  stood  close  to 
the  edge  of  the  ".opse,  amid  a  number  of  similar 
ones  which  had  fallen  across  each  other  in  wild 
confusion,  and  which  were  believed  to  have  once 
formed  part  of  some  old  heathen  temple.  The 
ruin,  if  such  it  was,  was  nearly  overgrown  with  rank 


JACK'S  GHOST.  23 

weeds  and  brambles,  and  was  looked  upon  with 
peculiar  disfavor  by  the  country  folks,  as  being  the 
favorite  haunt  of  the  headless  steed  before  men- 
tioned. 

"  Why,  there  is  the  basket !"  said  Winifred, 
surprised.  "  I  would  not  have  believed  Jack  would 
go  so  near  the  standing  stones  alone  for  all  the 
blackberries  in  Somersetshire." 

She  went  to  the  place,  and  as  she  stooped  to 
take  up  the  basket,  she  heard  distinctly  the  same 
sound  which  had  scared  Jack — a  faint,  hollow 
groan. 

"  Jack  did  hear  something,  after  all !"  was  her 
first  thought.  "  It  is  some  poor  creature  who  has 
been  wounded,  and  is  perhaps  starving  I"  was  her 
second  thought.  She  looked  carefully  around,  and 
seeing  nobody  near,  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Who 
is  here  ?" 

Another  fainter  groan  was  the  only  reply. 
Winifred  drew  nearer.  Stretched  upon  the  ground, 
ill  a  little  hollow  among  the  fallen  stones,  lay  a 
young  gentleman — so  Winifred  judged  him  to  be 
by  his  dress — apparently  just  at  the  point  of  death. 
His  once  gay  doublet  was  soiled  and  ragged,  hia 
eyes  were  imnken  and  closed,  and  there  was  a  half- 
healed  seal  upon  his  cheek.  Winifred  spoke  to 


24  WINIFRED. 

him,  but  there  was  no  answer  except  a  deep, 
tremulous  sigh. 

Winifred  was  not  long  in  deciding  what  to  do. 
She  put  down  her  burden  and  raised  the  poor 
gentleman's  head  upon  her  lap.  She  then  mois- 
tened his  lips  with  milk  from  the  bottle,  and  witl 
great  difficulty  forced  a  few  drops  into  his  mouth. 
In  a  few  moments  the  sick  man  opened  his  eyes 

"  Who  is  this  ?"  he  asked,  faintly. 

"  A  friend !"  answered  Winifred,  who  was  now 
moistening  some  bits  of  bread  with  milk  "  Try 
to  swallow  this." 

The  poor  sufferer  eagerly  took  the  food  offered 
him,  and  presently  was  able  to  sit  up  and  feed 
himself. 

"  May  God  bless  you,  my  maid !"  said  he.  "  I 
thought  all  was  over  with  me,  but  I  seem  already 
to  feel  new  strength.  I  believe  you  have  saved 
my  life.  How  did  you  find  me  out  ?" 

Winifred  related  the  story  of  Jack's  ad-venture, 
The  gentleman  smiled  faintly. 

"  It  was  I  who  frightened  your  brother  and 
robbed  him  of  his  basket  as  well,"  said  he.  "  I 
had  managed  to  crawl  to  the  barley  field  in  the 
hope  of  carrying  off  a  little  straw  to  add  to  my 
bedding,  when  I  was  surprised  by  his  approach, 


JACK'S  GHOST.  25 

and  shrank  behind  the  sheaves.  At  that  moment 
I  felt  such  a  deadly  faintness  and  hunger  come  over 
rue,  that  I  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  call  upon 
him  for  aid — an  impulse  I  bitterly  regretted  when  I 
saw  how  frightened  he  was.  I  expected  no  less 
than  that  he  would  bring  back  a  crowd  with  him, 
and  crept  to  my  hiding-place,  carrying  the  basket 
with  me.  I  was,  however,  too  far  exhausted  to 
profit  by  its  contents,  and  I  believe  should  soon 
have  died  but  for  your  timely  aid.  I  have  been 
hiding  in  this  den  for  a  week,  in  all  which  time  I 
have  eaten  nothing  but  wild  fruits  and  berries  and 
the  remains  of  a  loaf  which  a  poor  woman  gave 
me.  But,  my  maid,  can  you  tell  me  what  hau 
become  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  ?" 

"  He  and  my  Lord  Grey  were  taken  alive,  and 
carried  to  London,"  replied  Winifred.  "  We  do 
not  know  what  is  become  of  them,  but  I  heard  my 
Lady  Peckham  say  they  would  doubtless  be  put 
'o  death." 

:f  Aye,  doubtless  !"  said  the  stranger,  with  much 
bitterness.  "  He  has  fallen  into  hands  which  know 
not  mercy.  Are  the  soldiers  of  the  king  still  in  the 
neighborhood?" 

"  They  have  mostly  gone  from  Bridgewater," 
replied  Winifred  ;  "  though  there  are  still  a  few 
3 


26  WINIFRED. 

scattered  about  tlie  country — too  rnany  for  any  ol 
the  duke's  men  to  be  safe." 

"  I  see  you  have  guessed  my  secret,"  the  stranger 
began,  but  Winifred  interrupted  him. 

"  I  think,  if  you  please,  sir,  you  had  better  not  tell 
me  who  you  are,  and  then  if  any  one  questions  me 
I  shall  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  You  are  a  wise  little  maid.     You  will  never  be- 

• 

tray  me,  I  am  sure !" 

"  Never  !"  said  Winifred,  firmly.  "  They  should 
sooner  cut  off  my  head.  But  I  must  tell  my  mo- 
ther and  grandfather.  You  need  have  no  fear," 
she  added,  seeing  his  countenance  change  at  her 
words.  "  They  are  good  Christian  people,  and 
would  never  betray  a  poor  wanderer.  I  must  tell 
them,  that  we  may  know  what  to  do  for  your  re- 
lief and  escape.  I  will  leave  you  the  cheese  and 
part  of  the  loaf,  but  I  must  go  now,  or  my  mother 
will  be  frightened  at  my  stay." 

As  Winifred  walked  away,  her  head  was  fuller 
than  ever  of  serious  thoughts.  She  knew  that  the 
deed  she  had  just  done  was  one  which  might  bring 
destruction  not  only  upon  herself  but  her  whole 
family,  if  ever  it  were  known  that  she  had  helped 
one  of  Monmouth's  men.  She  had  heard,  like 
every  one  else,  of  Lady  Alice  Lisle,  who  had  been 


JACK'S  GHOST.  27 

put  to  death  for  no  other  offence  than  that  of  giv- 
ing food  and  shelter  to  the  two  fugitives  Hickes  and 
Nelthorpe.  She  had  heard  from  Mrs.  Alwright  of 
little  Miss  Linwood,  only  ten  years  old,  who  was  a 
member  of  the  girls'  school  which  had  presented 
the  Duke  of  Monmouth  with  a  standard  at  Tawton. 
The  poor  child  knew  nothing  of  what  she  was 
about,  and  only  did  as  she  was  bid  ;  nevertheless 
she  was  thrown  into  jail,  and  only  released  to  die 
of  jail  fever,  after  her  father  and  uncle  had  paid  for 
her  a  fine  of  twelve  hundred  pounds,  a  great  part 
of  which  sum,  it  was  said,  went  to  fill  the  purses  of 
the  queen's  maids  of  honor. 

All  these  and  many  other  things  made  Winifrel 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  what  she  had  done,  and 
yet  she  did  not  see  how  she  could  possibly  have 
acted  in  any  other  way.  She  felt  that  she  could  no 
more  have  gone  away  and  left  the  poor  gentleman 
to  die,  than  she  could  have  killed  him  with  her  own 
bands.  Nay,  it  would  have  been  murder  in  the 
sight  of  Grod— Winifred  was  sure  of  it.  No,  she 
could  not  have  done  otherwise  !  There  was  no  use 
in  speculating  about  that.  The  only  course  which 
now  remained  was  to  tell  her  mother  and  grandfa- 
ther, with  all  secrecy,  what  she  had  done,  and  leave 
them  to  act  as  they  saw  best. 


28  WINIFRED. 

Another  thing  troubled  her.  She  had  gives 
away  at  least  half  Dame  Sprat's  bread  and  milk. 
True,  there  still  remained  enough  for  the  old  wo- 
man's supper  and  breakfast,  but  she  would  at  once 
eee  that  the  loaf  had  been  broken,  and  what  would 
Winifred  say  ?  She  had  passed  the  dreaded  Black 
Copse,  and  reached  the  widow's  door  before  she 
had  quite  made  up  her  mind. 

Poor  old  Dame  Sprat  lived  alone  in  a  hovel, 
which  in  this  country  would  hardly  be  thought 
good  enough  for  a  cow-house.  Her  husband  and 
children  were  dead,  her  property  had  all  been  lost 
in  the  civil  wars  and  the  times  which  followed  them, 
and  she  had  now  no  dependence  for  her  daily  bread, 
save  the  kindness  of  her  neighbors  and  the  faith- 
fulness of  that  God  whom  she  loved.  She  had 
been  the  wife  of  an  Independent  preacher,  who  was 
an  elderly  man  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  civil  wars. 
Nevertheless,  his  age  did  not  prevent  him  from 
acting  as  chaplain  to  one  of  Cromwell's  regiments 
and  following  its  fortunes  till  just  before  the  Re 
etoration,  when  he  died,  full  of  years  and  honors. 
After  his  death  evil  days  came  upon  his  widow. 
She  was  turned  out  of  the  farm  upon  which  hei 
husband's  family  had  lived  for  many  generations, 
her  furniture  and  goods  were  wasted  and  scattered, 


JACK'S  GHOST.  '29 

• 
and  herself  driven  from  one  place  to  another  till 

Bhe  found  a  refuge  in  her  present  abode.  She  was 
now  a  very  aged  woman,  more  than  a  hundred  years 
old,  having  been  born  in  the  days  when  Queen 
Elizabeth  sat  upon  the  throne  of  Englanl  :  and 
many  a  tale  had  she  told  Winifred  of  those  stirring 
times  of  conquest  and  adventure,  and  of  the  sad 
and  sorrowful  days  which  had  followed  under  the 
Stuarts. 

She  now  sat  by  the  little  window  of  her  hut, 
with  her  great  Bible,  almost  the  only  remaining 
relic  of  her  wealth,  on  a  rude  table  before  her. 
Her  eyes  had  failed  a  good  deal  during  the  last  few 
years,  but  she  was  still  able  to  follow  the  sacred  text 
by  the  help  of  her  spectacles.  Indeed  she  was  so 
well  acquainted  with  its  contents  that  she  hardly 
needed  the  book. 

"  Welcome,  my  child !"  said  she,  as"  Winifred 
appeared.  "  It  is  long  since  you  have  gladdened 
my  eyes.  I  began  to  be  troubled  lest  some  mis- 
fortune had  befallen  you." 

"  I  should  have  been  here  yesterday,  but  my 
mother  has  sprained  her  ankle  and  needed  me  at 
home,"  replied  Winifred.  "  She  sends  you  this 
basket  and  a  bottle  of  new  milk  ;  but,  dame,"  she 
added,  hesitating,  "  all  is  not  there  that  mother 
3* 


30  WINIFRED. 

sent.  I  have  given  away  part  of  your  bread  and 
milk,  but  I  cannot  tell  to  whom." 

"Aye,  aye!"  said  the  old  dame,  nodding  her 
head,  sagaciously  :  "  I  see  how  it  is !  Some  poor 
soul  fleeing  as  a  bird  from  the  fowlers.  But  oil, 
my  dear  child,  be  careful!  These  are  evil  times, 
in  which  he  that  departeth  from  evil  maketh  him- 
Belf  a  prey." 

"I  know!"  said  Winifred.  "But  will  you  give 
me  two  or  three  apples,  dame?  I  see  yours  are 
ripe." 

"  Yes,  sweetheart,  surely.  Take  what  you  please. 
Here,  wait  a  moment."  The  old  woman  hobbled 
to  the  place  where  her  bed  stood,  and  after  some 
searching,  drew  forth  an  old  checked  blanket  or 
coverlet. 

"  I  shall  not  need  this,  these  warm  nights,"  said 
she  ;  "  but  if  any  poor  body  were  hiding  in  the 
fields,  it  might  be  a  great  comfort  to  him." 

Winifred  could  not  help  being  terrified  when  she 
saw  that  the  dame  had  so  quickly  understood  her 
secret.  What  if  others  should  penetrate  it  as 
easily?  Dame  Sprat  saw  her  trouble  and  guessed 
its  cause. 

"Have  no  fear,  my  maid,"  she  said.  "I  have 
Lhed  in  troublous  timoH  before,  and  well  do  I  know 


JACK'S  GHOST.  31 

the  ways  of  the  outcast  and  the  wanderer.  I  ani 
an  old  woman,  and  my  summons  may  come  at  any 
hour.  What  then  should  I  gain  by  betraying  any 
poor  creature  ?  I  would  gladly  give  such  an  one 
shelter  under  my  poor  roof  if  it  were  thought  safe 
for  him." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  very  good !"  said  Winifred  : 
"  I  must  tell  the  whole  to  my  mother  and  see  what 
she  will  say  ;  and  now  good-night,  dame.  I  must 
be  going,  for  it  grows  late,  but  I  will  try  to 
come  again  to-morrow." 

Winifred  soon  reached  the  standing  stones,  and 
first  looking  carefully  aroujid  to  see  that  she  was 
not  observed,  she  gave  a  low  signal.  The  stranger 
peeped  out  of  the  burrow  he  had  made  for  himself 
among  the  fallen  masses. 

"Have  you  come  so  soon  again,  my  little 
friend  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  home,"  replied  Winifred.  "  I 
have  brought  you  some  apples  and  this  blanket 
but  I  must  not  stay." 

"  Wait  only  one  moment,"  said  the  stranger. 
He  searched  in  his  bosom  as  he  spoke,  and  pro- 
duced a  very  small  parcel,  wrapped  in  soft  leather, 
and  a  watch  and  seals,  such  as  gentlemen  wore  in 
those  clays.  "  Do  you  know  my  Lady  Peckham  at 


32  \VINIFKED. 

the  Hall?"  lie  asked  ;  "I  think  you  mentioned  her 
name." 

"  O  yes,"  replied  Winifred.  "  She  has  been  very 
kind  to  me,  and  I  go  to  the  Hall  twice  a  week,  and 
Bometirnes  oftener,  to  take  lessons  in  fine  work  ami 
other  matters  of  Mrs.  Alwright,  my  lady's  gentle- 
woman.'' 

"  Ah,  poor  Alwright !  is  she  still  with  my  lady  ? 
Many  a  saucy  trick  have  I  played  upon  her,"  said 
the  stranger,  smiling.  "  Well,  sweetheart,  you  may 
carry  this  parcel  and  the  watch  to  my  lady,  and  tell 
her — no,  you  need  tell  her  nothing.  She  will  un- 
derstand. But  as  you  "value  my  life,  let  no  one  see 
the  packet.  Can  you  put  it  :uto  Lady  Peckham's 
hands  in  private  ?" 

"  I  think  I  can,"  replied  Winifred,  after  a  mo- 
ment's consideration.  "  I  think  I  see  the  way  to 
manage  it.  Good-night,  sir." 


CHAPTER 


THE     MIDNIGHT     WALK. 

YOU  are  late,  my  daughter,"  said  her  mother, 
who  stood  at  the  door  watching  for  her. 
"  The  sun  has  set  and  the  dew  is  beginning  to  fall 
heavily.  What  has  kept  you  so  long  ?" 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  mother,"  replied  Winifred. 

"  I  suppose  you  stayed  to  order  the  dame's  house 
and  cook  her  supper  for  her,"  continued  her  mo- 
ther. "  I  like  to  have  you  do  all  you  can  for  the 
poor  body,  for  she  is  a  good  woman,  and  old  and 
helpless  withal ;  but  it  is  not  well  to  be  out  after 
sunset,  now  that  the  dews  are  so  heavy,  and  besides 
it  is  not  safe  in  these  troublous  times.  But  you 
were  late  in  setting  out,  and  it  is  something  of  a 
walk  to  the  cottage.  Come  now  and  have  your 
supper.  Priscy  has  kept  a  bit  of  apple  pie  for  you, 
and  you  shall  have  some  clotted  cream,  for  a  treat 


84  WINIFRED. 

So  put  away  your  basket,  and  sit  down  by  the  fire, 
for  you  look  pale  and  chilly." 

Winifred  ate  her  supper  in  silence,  and  then  sat 
still  by  the  fire,  thinking  how  she  should  contrive 
to  teU  her  mother  of  her  adventure.  She  knew  it 
was  time  for  her  to  jro  to  bad,  bnt  still  she  lingered, 
watching  Dame  Magdalen  and  the  maids  as  they 
bustled  about,  finishing  up  the  work  and  making 
things  tidy  for  the  night.  At  last  her  mother 
noticed  her  as  she  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  wide 
chimney. 

"  Come,  child,  why  do  you  sit  here  ?"  said  she, 
hastily.  "  You  should  have  been  in  bed  an  hour 
ago." 

"I  should  like  to  eit  up  as  long  as  you  do,  to- 
night, mother." 

"Why,  what  has  come  over  the  child!"  said  her 
mother.  "  I  should  think  you  would  be  ready  for 
your  bed,  after  such  a  walk  :  and  you  are  looking 
pale  still!"  she  added.  "Did  anything  frighten 
you,  Winifred  ?" 

"  No,  mother,  but  I  should  like  to  sit  up  to-night." 

"Well,  have  thy  way  for  once  !"  said  her  mother. 
'It  is  not  often  you  take  a  fancy,  I  will  say  thai 
for  you.  See  now,  I  have  finished  all,  and  the 
maids  are  gone  to  bed.  I  will  take  my  knitting 


THE   MIDNIGHT  WALK.  35 

and  sit  down  by  the  tire,  and  you  shall  tell  me  a 
tale  from  your  favorite  book." 

Winifred  had  another  sort  of  tale  to  tell,  but  she 
delayed  it  till  her  mother  was  seated  at  her  knitting. 
It  was  nothing  unusual  for  Dame  Magdalen  to  sit 
down  by  the  fire  with  her  wheel  or  her  stocking 
after  all  the  rest  were  gone  to  bed.  It  was  thus 
she  gained  time  for  quiet  thought  over  the  events 
of  the  day,  for  diseu tangling  domestic  perplexities, 
and  for  those  devotional  musings  which  were  meat 
and  drink  to  her  thirsty  soul.  Winifred  saw  that 
all  the  doors  were  shut,  and  then  drew  close  to 
her  mother's  side. 

"Mother,"  said  she,  "I  have  found  out  what 
frightened  Jack." 

"  Aye !"  said  her  mother  :  "  then  there  really 
was  something  the  matter  ?" 

"  Matter  enough,  though  there  was  no  ghost  in 
the  case,"  said  Winifred,  and  she  proceeded  to 
relate,  in  the  lowest  tones,  the  history  of  her  ad- 
venture. "I  knew  it  was  dangerous,  mother,"  she 
concluded  ;  "  but  what  else  could  I  do  ?  I  am 
certain  he  would  have  died  if  I  had  gone  away  and 
left  him.  Was  I  wrong?"  she  asked,  anxiously, 
as  she  received  no  answer  from  Dame  Magdalen, 
who  had  dropped  her  knitting  and  sat  looking  at 


36  WINIFRED. 

the  fire.  "  Should  I  have  gone  on  my  way  and  left 
tLe  poor  gentleman  to  perish  ?" 

"  No,  child !  God  forbid  !"  exclaimed  the  mother, 
hastily.  "  You  acted  like  a  Christian,  but  it  is  a 
aad  shame,  and  I  cannot  tell  what  to  do.  I  must 
waken  your  grandfather  and  tell  him  the  story,  for 
the  barley  will  be  carted  to-morrow,  and  then  aU 
may  be  discovered." 

"  You  do  not  think  any  of  the  men  or  maids 
would  betray  the  stranger,  do  you,  mother  ?"  asked 
Winifred. 

"  I  cannot  tell,  child.  I  trust  not,  but  the  times 
are  evil,  and  terror  makes  people  mean  and  treach- 
erous. God  forgive  the  rulers  who  put  such 
temptations  in  the  way  of  simple  folk  like  us." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  the  American  colonies, 
where  my  father  was  last  year,"  said  Winifred. 
"  There  is  no  king  there,  they  say,  and  the  peo- 
ple are  all  of  one  mind." 

"  They  have  their  own  troubles — what  with  the  sa- 
vages and  the  wild  beasts,  the  sickness,  and  the  hard, 
cold  winter,"  said  her  mother.  "  Aye,  and  they 
have  their  own  dissensions  and  quarrels  too,  and 
will  doubtless  have  more  as  their  numbers  increase. 
You  would  not  like  to  leave  my  lady  at  the  Hall, 
and  t^e  parish  church,  and  is  11  the  places  you  have 


THp;   MIL  NIGHT   WALK.  37 

known  si  rice  you  were  born,  for  those  wild  hills 
and  waters.  There  are  trials  and  temptations  in  all 
lands  and  in  all  stations  ;  and  since  it  is  God  who 
sends  them  or  permits  them,  He  will  doubtlesa 
give  us  grace  to  bear  them.  But  I  must  awaken 
your  grandfather,  and  then  we  will  take  counsel  to- 
gether upon  this  poor  gentleman's  case." 

"  He  is  not  asleep,"  said  Winifred  ;  "  I  hear  him 
stirring." 

"  What  is  all  this  talking  ?"  asked  Master  Evans, 
patting  his  head  out  of  the  room  next  the  kit- 
chen, in  which  he  slept.  "  Cannot  Winifred  find 
time  to  tell  her  fairy  tales  by  daylight?  It  is  time 
for  simple  folks  like  us  to  be  abed  and  asleep,  and 
you  know  to-morrow  will  be  a  busy  day." 

"  It  is  no  fairy  tale  that  the  poor  maid  has  to  tell 
this  time,"  replied  Dame  Magdalen.  "  Will  you 
come  to  the  fire,  grandfather,  that  we  may  take 
counsel  together  ?" 

Master  Evans  closed  his  door,  and  presently 
came  out,  wrapped  in  the  Indian  gown  which  his 
Bon  had  brought  him  from  the  East.  He  sat 
down  and  listened  with  earnest  attention,  while 
Winifred  again  related  her  story. 

"  The  child  is  uneasy,  lest  she  should  have  done 
wrong  in  bringing  this  danger  upon  us,"  said  Mag- 
4 


38  WINIFRED. 

dalen,  when  the  tale  was  finished  ;  but,  in  truth, 
I  see  not  what  else  she  could  have  done." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Master  Evans.  "  She  did  no  more 
than  her  duty  ;  I  must  say  I  wish  it  had  chanced 
otherwise,  but  it  is  God's  will,  and  doubtless  for 
the  best.  Where  has  this  gallant  been  ever  since 
the  battle  ?" 

"As  far  as  I  made  out,  he  has  been  hiding 
among  the  poor  people — fishers  and  gypsies  and 
such  like — till  he  should  find  himself  fit  to  travel ; 
but  he  was  too  weak  to  talk  a  great  deal,  and  I 
thought  best  not  to  question  him." 

"  Eight !  You  are  sure  no  one  saw  you,  Wini- 
fred?" 

"  Quite  sure,  grandfather.  You  know  one  can 
see  far  around  from  the  standing  stones,  and  not  a 
creature  was  in  sight.  But  Daine  Sprat  guessed 
at  once  that  something  was  the  matter.  She  gave 
ine  one  of  her  blankets,  which  she  said  would  keep 
eoine  poor  creature  warm.  She  told  me  she  should 
be  glad  to  shelter  such  an  one  if  it  were  thought 
safe  for  him  :  and  I  have  been  thinking,  grandfa- 
ther"  

"Well,  say  on,  child,"  said  Master  Evans,  as 
Winifred  hesitated  ;  "thy  thoughts  are  mostly  to 
the  purpose." 


MIDNIGHT    *A_LK  39 

14  i  think,  grandfather,  tuat  since  sue  is  willing, 
Dame  Sprat's  cottage  is  the  best  place  for  the 
stranger.  You  know  she  has  no  visitors  I  ut  our- 
selves, and  it  is  a  lonely  place,  where  there  are  no 
passers-by.  The  dame  has  a  small  out-house 
where  she  keeps  her  turf  and  fagots.  The  gen- 
tleman might  hide  there  during  tho  day,  and  if 
pursuit  came,  he  could  flee  into  the  waste,  where 
he  would  have  a  much  better  chance  of  escape  than 
where  he  is  now.  When  I  go  to  carry  the  dame's 
meal  and  milk,  I  would  carry  enough  for  both,  and 
no  one  need  be  the  wiser." 

"The  plan  seems  a  good  one,"  said  Master 
Evans,  after  some  consideration.  "  No  place  could 
be  found  more  solitary,  and  the  dame  is  as  true  as 
steel,  and  a  wise  woman  besides.  But  who  will  be 
his  guide  to  the  cottage,  and  when  ?  The  barley 
must  be  carried  to-morrow,  if  the  day  be  at  all 
fair,  and  I  have  bid  the  men  be  in  the  field  by 
daylight.  There  seems  to  be  no  time." 

"I  will  guide  him,"  said  Winifred,  "and  to 
night.  The  moon  is  almost  full,  and  there  are  no 
clouds.  I  will  wrap  myself  in  my  gray  cloak,  and 
steal  along  by  the  hedge.  No  one  will  be  abroad, 
and  if  any  one  should  chance  to  see  me,  he  will 
take  me  for  a  fairy,"  she  added,  smiling,  "  Then, 


40  WINIFRED. 

to-morrow  I  can  go  up  to  the  Hall  as  usual,  to  take 
my  lesson  of  Mrs.  Alwrigkt.  My  lady  always 
walks  in  the  maze  before  dinner,  and  I  can  wait 
gnd  speak  to  her  there.  I  know  the  way.  I  have 
been  there  before  to  gather  the  rose  leaves  and 
violets  for  Mrs.  Alwright,  and  if  any  of  the  servants 
see  me,  they  will  think  me  about  some  such  busi- 
ness." 

"The  child  is  too  wise  for  her  years!"  said 
Magdalen.  "  But,  my  dear  one,  I  cannot  have  thee 
abroad  in  the  lonesome  fields  at  night,  and  with  a 
stranger  whom  no  one  knows." 

"  I  think  there  is  no  danger,  mother  ;  at  least 
not  so  much  as  in  leaving  the  matter  till  to-morrow. 
Nobody  would  harm  a  child  like  me,  especially  when 
she  came  to  do  him  a  service." 

"  Alas,  poor  child !  you  know  little  of  the  wicked- 
ness of  this  world.  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
wish  you  should  -never  know  more  than  now !" 

"  And  besides,  dear  mother,"  continued  "Winifred, 
in  a  low  and  reverent  tone,  "  I  have  prayed  to 
God  to  take  care  of  me  :  and  then  I  opened  m^ 
Bible  and  read  this  verse  :  '  Yea,  the  darkness  is 
no  darkness  to  Thee,  but  the  night  is  as  clear  as 
the  day  :  the  darkness  and  the  light  to  Thee  are 
both  alike.*  So  then  I  thought  God  can  take  care 


THE   MIDNIGHT   WALK.  41 

of  me  as  well  when  I  am  alone  in  the  fields  a?  when 
I  am  asleep  in  my  bed  ;  for  all  places  are  alike  to 
Him  :  and  why  then  should  I  fear,  since  I  am 
abroad  upon  His  work,  and  an  errand  of  mercy  ?" 

"  True,"  said  her  grandfather  ;  "  I  see  where  thy 
courage  comes  from.  She  is  right,  Magdalen ! 
Whatever  is  to  be  done,  must  be  done  this  night, 
or  not  at  all.  The  harvesters  will  be  in  the  fields 
by  daylight,  and  some  of  the  lads  will  be  daring 
each  other  to  gather  sloes  at  the  standing  stones. 
Even  thinking  of  naught  but  our  own  safety,  it  is 
&ie  wisest  course,  for  it  will  bring  destruction  upon 
us  all  if  the  poor  gentleman  be  found  there,  and  it 
becomes  known,  as  it  will,  that  he  has  had  food 
from  us.  I  have  a  shrewd  guess  as  to  who  he  may 
be,  but  I  say  nothing." 

"  Go  then,  my  daughter,  and  may  thy  God  ana 
the  God  of  thy  fathers  go  with  thee,"  said  her  mo- 
ther. "Since  it  is  His  will  that  thou  sh6uldst 
run  into  danger,  I  do  trust  He  will  bring  thee  safe 
out  of  it." 

Winifred  was  soon  wrapped  up  in  her  warm  gray 
cloak,  and  with  her  basket  well  filled  a  second 
time,  and  with  certain  other  matters  tied  up  in  A 
bundle,  she  set  out  on  her  lonely  walk.  Magdalen 
watched  h^r  from  the  door  till  she  could  no  longer 
4* 


4:2  WINIFRED. 

see  the  little  gray  figure,  and  then  with  a  heavy 
heart  she  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  sat  clown 
to  await  her  daughter's  return,  and  to  pray  that 
she  might  be  kept  from  all  the  dangers  of  the  way. 

The  time  passed  slowly  enough  to  the  two  people 
Bitting  by  the  fireside,  and  more  than  once  did  Mag 
dalen  bitterly  repent  having  allowed  her  daughter 
to  go  upon  such  an  errand.  Again  and  again  she 
thought  of  all  the  perils  to  which  the  child  might 
be  exposed,  whether  from  pixies  and  goblins  (for 
VTagdalen  was  by  no  means  above  the  superstitions 
of  her  time),  or  from  the  king's  soldiers,  or  even 
the  stranger  himself.  There  were  but  few  words 
spoken.  Magdalen  was  never  given  to  very  much 
expression,  and  any  strong  emotion  was  apt  to  shut 
her  up  within  herself  ;  and  Master  Evans  seemed 
wrapped  up  in  his  own  meditations. 

At  last  the  patter  of  the  little  feet  was  heard 
upon  the  stones  of  the  paved  court  outside  the  kit- 
chen door.  Magdalen  could  hardly  give  the  child 
time  to  tell  her  story,  so  anxious  was  she  to  put  her 
into  a  warm  bed,  and  dose  her  with  the  hot  spiced 
elder  wine  which  she  had  kept  simmering  among 
the  ashes.  Winifred  had  succeeded  perfectly. 
She  found  the  gentleman  asleep,  and  had  with 
some  difficulty  aroused  him,  and  made  him  under-" 


THE   MIDNIGHT    WALK.  43 

stand  lier  errand.  He  had  objected  at  first,  she 
said,  for  fear  of  bringing  trouble  upon  them  all,  but 
when  she  had  made  him  comprehend  the  true  state 
of  the  case,  he  had  gone  with  her,  slowly  and  with 
a  good  deal  of  difficulty  (for  he  was  stiff  and  very 
lame),  to  the  widow's  cottage.  Dame  Sprat  was 
easily  aroused,  and  opened  her  door  at  once.  She 
knew  the  stranger  directly,  and  called  him  Master 
Ajrthur. 

"Aye,  aye,  I  thought  as  much !"  said  the  farmer, 
ttodding  ;  "  but  least  said  soonest  mended.  Go  011, 
jliy  child." 

"That  is  all,"  said  Winifred,  simply.  "Dame 
Sprat  welcomed  him  like  a  lady  in  her  own  hall 
She  would  fain  have  had  him  take  her  bed,  but  ho 
would  not  hear  of  that.  He  wrapped  himself  up 
in  the  dame's  old  duffel  cloak  and  was  asleep  in  a 
moment  in  her  great  chair.  Then  I  left  the  basket 
and  came  home  as  fast  as  I  could.  I  heard  the 
church  clock  strike  twelve  as  I  came  over  the  stile 
by  our  orchard,  and  oh,  it  was  so  cold !"  said  "Win- 
ifred, shivering. 

"Yes,  I  fear  you  are  chilled  through  and 
through !  I  trust  you  have  not  caught  your  death !" 
said  her  mother.  "  Come  now,  and  let  me  put  yon 
to  bed  at  once." 


44  WINIFRED. 

The  warmed  bed  and  the  hot  spiced  drink  soc  <j 
threw  off  the  chill,  and  in  half  an  hour  Winifred 
was  sleeping  as  sweetly  as  though  she  had  gone  to 
bed  with  the  chickens,  as  usual. 


fir. 


MY     LADY, 

TTTINNIE  is  lazy,  this  morniiig,"  said  Jack,  as 
T  V  he  sat  down  to  his  breakfast  of  bread  and 
milk  in  the  kitchen.  "  It  is  almost  six,  and  she 
is  not  down  yet." 

"  No,"  replied  his  mother  ;  "  Winnie  is  not  lazy 
but  tired,  and  not  very  well.  •  She  was  awake  lat^ 
last  night,  and  I  thought  she  had  better  sleejj 
awhile  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  there  is  always  some  good  reason  for 
everything  that  Winnie  does !"  said  Jack,  peevishly. 
*  I  wish  I  could  always  do  just  right,  as  she  does  I" 

"  I  wish  you  could,"  said  his  mother  ;  "but  that 
m  not  the  way  to  begin." 

Jack  murmured  something  about  favorites, 
which,  however  ne  was  verj  careful  not  to  let  his 
mother  hear,  and  went  on  eating  his  breakfast  with 


46  WINIFRED. 

a  very  discontented  face.  The  truth  was,  he  was 
a  good  deal  ashamed  of  his  fright  the  evening 
before,  and  he  felt  vexed  at  Winifred  for  doing  the 
errand  he  had  been  afraid  to  perform.  Jack  knew 
that  he  was  a  coward,  and  he  was  ashamed  of  his 
cowardice,  but  instead  of  letting  his  shame  lead 
him  to  the  amendment  of  his  fault,  he  permitted 
it  to  make  him  jealous  of  every  one  who  was  braver 
than  himself,  and  especially  of  Winnie,  who,  being 
a  girl,  had,  he  opined,  no  business  to  go  where  he 
was  afraid  to  venture. 

"I  don't  care!"  lie  said  to  himself.  "I  will  do 
something  which  shall  show  them  that  I  am  not 
afraid.  I  will  climb  up  to  the  magpie's  nest  an<? 
bring  down  a  pair  of  the  young  ones  to  tame.  Win- 
nie dare  not  do  that,  I  know.  I  can  teach  the  young, 
magpies  all  sorts  of  things — even  to  speak,  I  dare 
say,  and  then  I  can  sell  one  of  them  at  the  fair." 

The  magpie's  nest  which  Jack  intended  to  r»)\ 
was  built  in  the  top  of  a  very  high  old  tree,  which 
stood  not  far  from  the  farm-house.  The  tree  had 
been  long  dead,  and  the  branches  wore  as  dry  aa 
tinder ;  a  fact  of  which  the  cunning  magpie  was 
doubtless  well  aware  when  she  built  her  nest  in  the 
highest  fork.  A  tame  magpie  is  fully  as  entertain- 
ing as  a  parrot,  and  Jack,  with  whom  bird's-nesting 


MT  LALY.  47 

was  a  kind  of  passion,  often  cast  longing  eyes  upon 
the  nest  in  question.  His  grandfather,  however, 
had  forbidden  hini  to  go  near  it,  not  from  any 
particular  tenderness  to  the  birds,  but  because  the 
tree  was  such  dangerous  climbing. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  when  Winifred  opened 
her  eyes  with  a  start,  and  saw  her  mother  standing 
by  her  bedside. 

"  Did  I  frighten  you  ?"  asked  her  mother. 

"  No,  mother — I  was  dreaming.  I  thought  the 
soldiers  had  come  !"  replied  Winifred.  "  Is  it  not 
very  late?"  ehe  added,  looking  at  the  sun  and 
starting  up  in  alarm. ' 

"  Almost  eight  o'clock  I"  replied  her  mother 
"  I  have  let  you  sleep  as  long  as  I  dared  ;  but  yotk 
know  you  have  to  go  to  the  Hall  to-day.  You  will 
have  no  more  than  time  to  dress  yourself  neatrj 
and  eat  your  breakfast.  Do  not  forget  the  packet 
for  niy  lady." 

There  was  no  great  danger  of  Winifred's  for- 
getting it.  She  had  slept  with  it  under  her  pillow, 
and  a  dozen  times  during  the  night  she  had  gone 
over  the  matter  in  her  dreams,  with  all  sorts  oi 
absurd  and  frightful  incidents  attached  thereto. 
Now  she  was  telling  the  secret  to  Lady  Peckham, 
at  the  parish  church,  in  service  time,  while  the  vicar 


48  WINIFRED. 

stopped  his  sermon  and  all  the  congregation  turned 
around  to  listen.  Now  she  was  in  the  street  of 
Bridgewater,  on  a  market  day,  irresistibly  impelle*. 
to  tell  every  one  she  met  that  the  Duke  of  Mon 
mouth  was  hiding  in  Lady  Peckham's  closet ;  and 
again,  she  found  herself  at  the  water-sido  in  Bristol, 
whither  she  had  once  gone  to  meet  her  father, 
and  all  the  bells  of  the  place  were  ringing  at  once  : 
"  Tell  my  Lady  Peckham  !  Tell  my  Lady  Peckham  I" 
But  if  Winifred's  dreams  had  been  disturbed 
^nd  confused,  her  waking  thoughts  were  composed 
/did  collected.  She  had  already  settled  her  plan  of 
-operations,  by  the  time  she  was  dressed.  She 
Knew  that  Lady  Peckham  was  exceedingly  regulal 
in  all  her  habits,  having  exactly  appointed  hours 
for  her  devotional  reading  and  prayers,  for  attend 
ing  to  her  household  concerns,  for  her  still-room, 
where  she  and  Mrs.  Alwright  prepared  medicine^ 
and  cordials  for  the  sick,  and  perfumes  and  con- 
fections for  the  well ;  for  her  embroidery,  and  for 
walking  in  the  maze  or  on  the  terrace.  It  was  at 
this  latter  time  that  Winifred  intended  to  address 
her.  She  was  soon  on  her  way  to  the  Hall,  with 
her  little  work-basket  on  her  arm,  and  the  precious 
watch  and  packet  carefully  secured  in  her  bosom, 
fco  take  her  lesson  in  cut- work  or  carpet-work  of 


MY  LADY.  49 

Mrs.  Alwright,  my  lady's  gentlewoman.  As  Wini- 
fred walked  along  by  the  hedgerow  or  under  the 
orchard  trees,  bending  to  the  earth  with  their  load 
of  fruit,  she  sang  in  a  sweet  voice  good  Bishop 
Ken's  beautiful  morning  hymn  : 

"  Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun, 
Tby  daily  course  of  duty  run  ! 
Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  early  rise 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice." 

"  How  beautiful  it  must  be  to  be  able  to  write 
such  fine  hymns  as  the  good  bishop !"  thought 
Winifred.  "  And  yet  his  heart  must  often  be  sad, 
when  he  sees  so  much  evil  which  he  cannot  help. 
They  say  he  shed  tears  when  he  pleaded  with  the 
chief-justice,  and  even  with  the  king  himself,  for 
the  poor  prisoners,  and  all  to  no  purpose.  No,  I 
should  not  like  to  be  in  his  place,  or  in  that  of  anj 
ether  great  person,  especially  in  these  sad  times. 
I  am  sure  my  lady  and  Sir  Edward  often  look 
troubled  and  distressed,  and  Dame  Sprat  says  the 
great  Queen  Elizabeth  died  of  a  broken  heart  foi 
all  the  trouble  she  saw  coming  on  the  country  she 
loved  so  well,  and  which  she  could  do  nothing  to 
hinder.  No,  I  should  not  like  to  be  any  great  per- 
Bon.  It  is  as  much  as  I  can  manage,  and  more,  to 
do  my  duty  in  that  state  of  life  to  which  it  has 
5 


60  WINIFRED. 

pleased  God  to  call  me.  But  then  I  suppose  if 
God  puts  people  in  high  places,  He  will  give  them 
grace  to  do  their  duty  there  also,  if  they  ask  Him 
for  it,  as  much  as  to  grandfather  or  to  me.  He  gives 
to  every  one  according  to  his  need.  Dame  Sprat 
told  me  that  she  has  often  heard  her  mother  tell 
how,  in  Queen  Mary's  days,  even  young  lads  like 
William  Hunting-ton  went  to  their  death  singing 
and  praising  God  ;  and  they  say  when  Dame  Gaunt 
tas  bound  the  other  day  in  London,  she  was  calm 
as  though  she  were  going  to  her  night's  rest.  I 
ton  afraid  I  never  could  be  like  that."  And  Win- 
ifred shuddered  at  the  thought  of  being  brought 
oefore  the  terrible  chief-justice,  whose  face  and 
voice  overcame  even  the  boldest  men,  and  had 
actually  scared  to  death  a  young  lady  at  the 
assizes  in  Tawton  not  long  before.  It  must  be  re 
membered  that  this  was  no  mere  fancy  on  her  part 
such  as  girls  sometimes  like  to  scare  themselves 
withal  It  was  an  event  likely  enough  to  happen, 
if  she  were  found  out  in  helping  or  concealing  any 
follower  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth. 

"  But  why  should  I  fear  ?"  she  continued.  "  II 
God  means  any  such  trial  for  me,  why  should  I 
doubt  that  He  will  give  me  strength  and  grace  tc 
bear  it,  and  take  me  safely  through?  Even  if  ] 


MY  LADY.  51 

should  lose  my  life,  the  pain  will  be  but  short,  and 
then  comes  heaven,  which  will  never,  never  end, 
jrhere  I  shall  see  all  the  saints  and  angels,  the  holy 
martyrs  who  have  died  for  the  truth,  and  our 
blessed  Lord  Himself." 

Winifred's  fears  were  gone — lost  in  the  thoughts 
which  now  came  crowding  upon  her.  Thoughts  of 
her  heavenly  home — speculations  as  to  what  it 
would  be  like,  and  what  would  be  her  employment 
tbere.  She  often  dwelt  upon  these  realities  of 
another  world,  as  other  girls  dwell  upon  their  air- 
built  castles,  reading  over  and  over  the  last  chap- 
ters of  the  Revelation,  and  everything  she  could 
find  in  the  Bible  relating  to  her  future  state,  till 
the  mansions  of  her  Father's  house  in  heaven 
seemed  as  real  to  her  as  the  gray  thatched  farm- 
house in  which  her  days  had  been  spent,  or  the  old 
Elizabethan  Hall  whither  she  was  going,  and  than 
which  she  had  never  seen  anything  finer.  She 
was  so  absorbed  in  her  own  reflections  that  the  mile 
and  a  half  between  the  farm  and  the  Hall  were 
juickly  passed  over,  and  she  almost  started  to  find 
herself  at  the  park  gate. 

Holford  Hall  was  a  quaint  old  red  brick  pile, 
all  angles,  and  gables,  and  projecting  turrets,  and 
clustered  chimneys,  with  a  stately  terrace  and  a 


52  WINIFRED. 

long  elm-tree  avenue  where  the  rooks  built,  year 
after  year.  Sir  Edward  had  often  called  it  bar- 
barous and  antiquated,  and  wished  he  could  build 
it  over  in  more  modern  style,  but  fortunately  he 
had  never  been  able  to  command  money  enough 
for  such  an  undertaking,  and  so  the  old  Hall  re- 
mained as  it  had  come  down  from  the  days  of 
Elizabeth.  Sir  Edward  was  a  man  of  more  cultiva- 
tion and  reading  than  many  country  gentlemen  of 
his  day.  He  read  the  "  Sylvia,"  and  corresponded 
frith  its  accomplished  author,  Mr.  Evelyn,  and  he 
fook  great  pride  in  the  stately  evergreens,  formal 
slipped  yews,  and  brilliant  flower -gardens  which 
surrounded  the  Hall ;  and  not  without  reason,  for 
J3  those  days  it  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  a 
gentleman's  country  house  to  have  all  the  litter  of 
farm  and  stable-yard  directly  under  its  windows, 
while  the  only  garden  consisted  of  a  few  gooseberry 
bushes  and  pot-herbs,  and  perhaps  some  knots  of 
common  flowers,  all  mingled  higgledy-piggledy, 
and  growing  as  best  they  could.  Winifred  tripped 
along  the  terrace  and  across  the  paved  court,  stop- 
ping for  a  moment  to  caress  the  old  bloodhound, 
who  knocked  his  tail  against  the  flagstones  at  her 
approach,  too  lazy  for  any  more  active  greeting  ; 


MY  LADY.  53 

uid  entered  the  little  ground-floor  parlor  which 
was  Mrs.  Alwright's  peculiar  sanctuary. 

Mrs.  Alwright  received  her  little  friend  with  her 
usual  dignified  kindness.  She  was  a  tall,  thin, 
rather  severe-looking  person,  very  neat  and  prim 
en  her  dress,  and  more  stately  in  her  manners  than 
my  lady  herself.  You  must  not  think  she  was  at 
all  like  an  ordinary  waiting-woman  of  these  days, 
though  she  dressed  her  lady's  hair  and  took  care 
•)f  her  clothes.  She  was  of  a  good  family  and  re- 
spectfully educated  for  those  times,  and  her  brother 
W3.s  vicar  of  the  parish  of  Holford.  Such  persons 
in  those  days  thought  it  no  disgrace  to  take  service 
with  ladies  of  higher  rank,  and  were  often  treated 
with  a  great  deal  of  consideration.  Mrs.  Alwright 
was  older  than  her  lady,  and  had  been  brought  up 
by  her  mother,  the  old  Lady  Carew,  who  was  a  fa- 
mous manager  and  housekeeper.  She  understood 
all  sorts  of  work,  plain  and  ornamental,  and  every 
kind  of  household  duty,  from  pickling  beef  and 
pork  to  making  the  most  delicate  confectionery. 
She  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  Winifred  from  the 
first  of  their  acquaintance,  and  she  intended  that 
the  child  should  be  thoroughly  taught  everything 
she  herself  knew. 

Winifred  usually  enjoyed  very  much  the  hours 
5* 


6-1  WINIFllED. 

Bhe  passed  by  Mrs.  Alwright's  side  in  the  house- 
keeper's room,  working  at  her  embroidery  or  her 
knitting,  as  the  case  might  be.  She  knew  that  the 
privilege  was  a  very  great  one,  such  as  few  girls  in 
her  station  enjoyed  ;  and  she  was  anxious  to  make 
the  most  of  her  time,  lest  something  should  happen 
to  interrupt  these  precious  hours.  Moreover,  she 
was  very  fond  of  good  Mrs.  Alwright,  and  loved  to 
please  her  ;  and  she  usually  gained  great  commen- 
dation for  her  industry  and  attention.  To-day, 
Jfrwever,  she  was  so  absent-minded  and  set  so 
many  stitches  awry  in  the  fine  cut-work  band  she 
was  making,  that  Mrs.  Alwright  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  give  her  a  little  lecture  on  her  carelessness. 

"  But  I  am  sure  you  are  not  well !"  was  the 
sudden  conclusion  of  her  discourse.  "  You  are  as 
white  as  a  lily,  and  have  dark  marks  under  your 
eyes.  You  shall  lay  aside  your  work  for  the 
present,  and  have  a  glass  of  my  rose  cordial  or  a 
dose  of  my  lady's  sovereign  balm,  and  a  piece  of 
gingerbread  or  saffron  cake,  and  when  you  have 
rested,  you  shall  read  to  me  out  of  Hall's  •  Chro- 
nicle.' I  have  kept  the  mark  in  the  book  where 
you  left  off  last  time." 

Winifred  had  no  objection  to  the  cordial,  fragrant 
with  rose-leaves  arid  spices,  but  she  could  not  udp 


MY  LADY.  65 

RII  inward  shudder  at  the  thought  of  my  lady's 
balm,  even  if  it  were  to  be  followed  by  a  liberal 
slice  of  Mrs.  Alwright's  excellent  gingerbread, 
stuffed  with  citron  and  almonds.  She  had  helped 
at  the  distilling  of  that  balm,  and  had  a  lively 
recollection  of  the  double  handful  of  red  earth- 
worms and  the  six  woodlice  which  went  into  the 
still,  along  with  the  herbs  and  drugs,  the  flour  of 
<;oral  and  amber,  the  spice  and  flowers,  which  went 
to  make  up  the  medicine.  She  earnestly  assured 
Mrs.  Alwright  that  she  was  not  at  all  ill,  only 
somewhat  tired  from  having  taken  a  long  walk  the 
day  before,  and  added  that  she  was  sure  the  rose 
cordial  would  do  her  good,  especially  if  she  migh'; 
go  and  walk  in  the  garden  awhile.  Mrs.  Alwrighf 
bustled  about  to  procure  these  refreshments,  an<? 
looked  on  with  great  satisfaction  while  Winifred 
sipped  the  fragrant  medicine,  declaring  that  she 
looked  better  already. 

"  And,  "Winifred,  as  you  say,  it  will  do  you  good  to 
be  in  the  air  ;  so  you  may  take  my  little  basket,  and 
gather  all  the  rose-hips  which  you  can  find  in  the 
maze.  I  am  going  to  make  some  conserve  for  my 
brother's  cough,  and  you  shall  help  me  prepare  it. 
'Tis  a  most  sovereign  thing  for  a  cold  and  cough, 
as  you  will  do  well  to  remember." 


66  WINIFRED. 

Winifred  could  not  repress  an  expression  oi 
thankfulness  when  she  found  her  way  so  smoothed 
before  her.  She  had  half  filled  her  basket  with 
the  red  shining  rose-berries,  or  hips,  as  they  arc 
called,  and  began  to  fear  that  Lady  Peckham 
was  not  coming  out  to-day,  when  she  saw  her  pa- 
troness approaching,  and  stood  still,  dropping  her 
little  courtesy  as  she  drew  near. 

Lady  Peckham  was  a  woman  past  fifty  years  old, 
but  still  possessing  the  remains  of  great  beauty> 
though  she  was  thin  and  worn,  and  her  face  wore 
an  expression  of  sadness — that  kind  of  sadnesp 
which  has  grown  so  habitual  as  to  become  a  par: 
of  the  character  itself.  She  bad  been  first  married 
at  seventeen,  to  a  distant  cousin  of  her  own.  It 
was  a  marriage  of  affection,  and  one  not  altogether 
favored  by  her  parents,  for  they  were  stanch  loy- 
alists, and  had  suffered  greatly  in  the  royal  cause, 
while  Captain  Winthrop  was  a  rising  young  officer 
in  the  army  of  the  Commonwealth.  But  Lord 
Carew  was  "  out  at  elbows  "  in  money  matters,  and 
not  in  good  odor  with  the  dominant  party,  and  thfc 
countenance  and  assistance  of  the  young  Colon  e^ 
of  Ironsides  were  not  to  be  despised.  For  a  few 
years  Margaret  Winthrop's  life  had  been  a  happy 
dream  checkered  only  by  fears  for  her  husband, 


MY    LADY.  57 

and  by  tlie  hardly  concealed  displeasure  of  her 
parents,  whom,  however,  she  seldom  saw  ;  for  Lord 
Carew  had  found  it  expedient  to  leave  his  estates 
in  Devonshire  and  reside  in  a  remote  corner  of 
Wales,  where  his  wife  possessed  a  small  property. 
Then  the  dream  was  rudely  broken !  Margaret's 
young  husband  died  suddenly,  leaving  his  stili 
younger  wife  penniless.  The  great  Protector 
passed  away,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  feeble  son, 
who  soon  gave  way  to  Charles  the  Second.  The 
royal  party  came  into  power,  and  used  their  power 
with  an  unsparing  hand.  Lord  Carew  came  back 
to  his  estates,  and  was  able  to  offer  his  widowe<2 
daughter  a  refuge,  which  she  had  no  choice  b?1*-  tc 
accept. 

Lady  Carew,  Margaret's  mother,  was  a  bustling 
active  woman,  a  wonderful  manager  and  house* 
keeper,  a  famous  disciplinarian,  and  a  violent 
churchwoman  of  the  political  stamp.  "Withal  she 
was  kind-hearted  and  charitable,  and  benevolently 
anxious  to  make  people  happy,  provided  always 
tnat  they  were  willing  to  be  made  happy  exactly  in 
her  way,  but  exceedingly  averse  to  allowing  them 
any  choice  in  the  matter.  Above  all,  she  was  a 
strenuous  and  successful  match-maker,  and  was  re- 
puted to  have  brought  together  in  ore  couples  than 


68  WINIFRED. 

any  one  else  in  the  county  ;  albeit  it  was  said  that 
her  matrimonial  mixtures,  unlike  her  home-made 
wines  and  preserves,  sometimes  soured  and  fer- 
mented in  a  very  unpleasant  manner.  She  had 
been  twice  married,  and  both  times  had  bettered 
her  condition  ;  and  she  could  see  no  earthly  reason 
why  her  daughter  Margaret  should  live  single  all 
her  days  because  her  first  marriage  had  not  turned 
out  well.  Accordingly  Margaret  had  not  left  off 
her  first  weeds,  before  her  mother  began  to  look 
about  for  a  match  for  her.  She  soon  pitched  upon 
a  suitable  bridegroom  in  the  person  of  Sir  Edward 
Peckham,  a  Somersetshire  baronet  of  old  family 
who,  having  been  a  Parliament  man  when  thai; 
party  was  uppermost,  had  changed  sides  with  great, 
dexterity  and  just  at  the  right  moment,  contriving 
to  keep  not  only  all  his  own  large  property,  but, 
report  said,  not  a  little  which  had  belonged  to 
other  people  before  the  civil  war. 

Margaret  resisted  for  a  long  time  with  all  the 
force  of  a  not  very  strong  will,  but  her  suitor  was 
persevering  and  her  mother  determined.  Parents 
in  those  days  had  large  authority  in  such  matters, 
and  children  little  freedom  of  choice.  Lady  Carew 
well  knew  when  and  where  to  apply  the  screws, 
and  apply  them  she  d;d  with  an  unrelenting  hand, 


MY  LADY.  59 

comforting  herself  all  the  time  with  the  reflection 
that  she  was  acting  for  her  daughter's  good,  and 
that  Margaret  would  live  to  thank  her  some  day. 

But  that  day  never  came.  Margaret,  indeed, 
yielded  at  last,  from  sheer  want  of  strength  to  re- 
sist any  longer.  She  married  Sir  Edward,  but  she 
went  to  her  wedding  as  an  unwilling  nun  might 
take  the  vows  in  her  convent.  Even  her  mother 
had  some  misgivings  as  she  noticed  her  daughter's 
white  cheek  and  sunken  eye,  and  saw  the  mecha- 
nical and  lifeless  manner  in  which  she  went  through 
the  marriage  ceremony  and  received  the  congratu- 
lations of  her  friends,  especially  as  she  could  not 
but  perceive  that  the  same  things  were  noticed  and 
remarked  upon  by  the  company. 

"  But  it  will  be  all  right  when  she  has  once  a 
family  about  her,"  said  she  to  her  husband.  "  She 
will  busy  herself  with  the  duties  and  the  pleasures 
of  her  station,  and  forget  all  about  that  idle  young 
Winthrop." 

Lord  Carew  had  his  doubts  about  things  ever 
teing  again  all  right  with  Margaret  ;  but  he  was  a 
man  who  loved  peace  and  quiet  at  home,  so  ho 
only  replied  to  his  wife's  predictions  with  a  vague 
shake  of  the  head,  which  might  mean  anything  or 
nothing. 


60  WINIFKKD. 

Margaret  was  never  to  hold  in  her  arms  a  child 
of  her  own.  Her  first  and  only  infant  came  into 
the  world  only  to  receive  a  name  and  a  place  in 
the  family  vault  of  the  Peckhanis  under  Holford 
Church,  while  its  mother  was  unconscious  of  its  ex- 
istence. For  many  days  she  lay  between  life  and 
death,  and  for  weeks  and  months  she  was  confined 
to  the  darkened  chamber,  which  it  was  feared  she 
would  never  leave  again.  At  last,  however,  she 
recovered  and  resumed  the  duties  of  her  station, 
performing  them  all  with  anxious,  punctilious  accu- 
racy, as  if  she  would  thus  make  up  to  her  husband 
for  that  love  which  she  was  unable  to  give  him. 
For  years  she  lived  under  a  heavy  cloud  of  reli- 
gious depression  which  nothing  could  remove. 
She  felt  that  she  had  sinned  against  herself  and  her 
husband  in  taking  upon  herself  vows  which  she 
could  not  perform,  and  she  thought  she  had  thus 
ehut  herself  quite  out  of  God's  mercy.  Thus  she 
was  deprived  of  the  only  thing  which  could  have 
been  any  comfort  to  her.  This  persuasion  had 
finally  given  way  under  the  judicious  counsel  oi 
some  of  those  religious  teachers  who  in  the  midst 
of  a  faithless  and  perverse  generation  inculcated  a 
pure  and  exalted  spirituality,  such  as  has  never 
befxn  surpassed.  She  learned  to  seek  in  faithful 


MY  LADY.  61 

and  earnest  self- consecration  "that  peace  which 
the  world  can  neither  give  nor  take  away  ;"  and  her 
long-troubled  heart  found  rest  in  God.  Thencefor 
ward  her  life  was  one  long  waiting  till  that  change 
should  come  which  would  restore  her  to  all  she 
loved  best  ;  and  she  was  content  to  wait,  doing  all 
in  her  power  to  promote  the  welfare  and  happiness 
of  those  about  her,  to  make  up  for  or  to  conceal  all 
that  was  wanting  in  her  husband,  and  to  perfect 
holiness  in  the  fear  of  God. 

Sir  Edward  did  not  pretend  to  understand  his 
wife's  religion,  but  he  saw  that  it  had  the  sanction 
of  such  men  as  Jeremy  Taylor  and  his  friends  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Evelyn,  which  satisfied  all  his  scruples 
as  to  its  orthodoxy  ;  and  he  rejoiced  to  see  that  it 
made  his  wife  happy,  for  he  loved  her  with  all  the 
force  of  which  his  somewhat  small  and  narrow 
nature  was  capable.  To  Sir  Edward,  as  to  Lady 
Carew,  religion  was  an  affair  of  state  and  policy. 
Tho  sermons  which  suited  him  best  were  discourses 
upon  the  divine  right  of  kings,  the  duty  of  passive 
obedience  under  all  conceivable  provocations,  and 
the  heinous  nature  of  dissent  and  republicanism ; 
and  he  sometimes  was  tempted  to  entertain  serious 
doubts  of  the  orthodoxy  of  the  vicar  of  Holford 
because  he  dispensed  his  charities  to  ohurchniaD 
6 


62  WINIFRED. 

and  dissenter  alike,  and  seldom  preached  mere 
than  once  a  quarter  upon  his  favorite  topics. 
Time-server  and  worldling  as  he  undoubtedly  was, 
Sir  Edward  was  not  deficient  in  generosity.  Though 
the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart  was  disappointed  by 
the  fact  of  his  having  no  children,  he  never  by  word 
or  look  reproached  his  wife.  The  only  way  in 
which  his  mortification  showed  itself  was  in  a  great 
dislike  to  children  in  general,  and  a  special  hatred 
towards  those  of  his  heir-at-law.  Lady  Peckham 
had  once  ventured  to  propose  that  one  or  two  of 
these  young  people  should  be  invited  to  the  Hall 
for  a  visit,  but  the  request  was  met  with  such  an 
angry  refusal  that  it  was  never  repeated. 

For  the  rest,  Sir  Edward  was  a  good  landlord 
and  master,  a  tolerably  efficient  justice  of  the  peace, 
and  a  keen  sportsman,  and  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of 
being  greatly  looked  up  to  by  the  yeomanry  and 
smaller  gentry  in  the  neighborhood,  towards  whom 
he  was  at  all  times  gracious  and  condescending. 

Lady  Peckham  had  frequently  noticed  Winifred 
in  church  and  at  the  village  school,  founded  by  a 
Dame  Peckham  in  days  long  gone  by  ;  and  was  so 
attracted  by  her  appearance  that  she  asked  the 
vicar  whose  child  she  was. 

"  She  is  a  granddaughter  of  old  Master  Evans  at 


MY  LADY.  63 

fcha  Stonehill  farm,"  was  the  reply.  "  He/  father 
rnai  /led  in  Devonshire  somewhere  about  Plymouth, 
and  it  is  said  quite  above  his  own  rank  ;  and  in- 
deed Dame  Evans  is  very  different  from  most  of 
the  farmers'  wives  hereabout." 

"  Do  you  know  what  her  name  was  before  she 
was  married?"  asked  Lady  Peckham.  "I  fancy 
this  little  girl  reminds  me  of  some  one  I  have 
known." 

"  It  was  a  very  grave  name,  being  nothing  less 
than  Coffin !"  replied  the  vicar,  who  sometimes 
ventured  upon  a  very  mild  little  joke.  "  I  have 
heard  that  many  of  the  family  emigrated  to  the 
Ameiisaii  plantations,  at  the  accession  of  his  late 
gracious  majesty.  But  you  are  ill,  my  lady !" 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  Lady  Peckham,  rising  ;  "  I 
sat  too  long  in  the  close  school-room.  And  so  her 
mother's  name  was  Coffin,  and  she  came  from 
Devonshire  !"  she  murmured.  "  Strange  that  I 
should  not  ha^e  seen  at  once  where  the  resem- 
blance lay!" 

The  vicar  waited  for  an  explanation,  but  none 
came,  and  he  was  obliged  to  wait  still  longer  till 
he  could  mention  the  matter  to  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Alwright  nodded,  and  screwed  up  her  mouth  mys- 
teriously. 


64  WINIFRED. 

"  I  understand  it  all !"  said  she.  "  Mrs.  'Win- 
throp, the  mother  of  my  lady's  first  husband,  was 

Coffin.  I  have  often  seen  her,  and  certainly  this 
young  maid  hath  a  look  both  of  her  and  of  Colonel 
Winthrop.  The  poor  young  gentleman  had  just 
such  deep  gray  eyes,  always  looking  as  if  they  saw 
more  than  other  folks  could  see,  and  just  such 
regular  eyebrows.  No  wonder  my  poor  dear  lady 
was  drawn  to  her.  I  must  have  a  gossip  with 
Dame  Evans,  and  find  out  whether  there  was  really 
any  kinship  between  them." 

"  Then  you  think  my  lady  still  remembers  her 
first  husband  ?"  the  vicar  ventured  to  ask. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  John  Alwright !  Eemember 
him  !  Of  course  she  does !  My  lady  is  as  good  a 
wife  as  ever  breathed  ;  but  between  ourselves  she 
loves  the  very  shadow  of  Colonel  Winthrop  better 
than  she  loves  Sir  Edward's  whole  body.  She 
would  never  have  married  again  but  for  her 
mother,  my  old  lady,  who,  with  all  due  reverence, 
was  altogether  too  fond  of  having  her  own  way, 
and  putting  her  finger  in  other  people's  pies, 
Remember  him,  indeed!"  repeated  Alwright,  in- 
dignantly. "  Do  you  suppose  I  have  ever  forgotten 
my  poor  John  Foster,  who  was  killed  at  Long 
Marston,  though  we  never  were  married  at  all? 


MY  LADY.  65 

I  should  like  to  see  anybody  try  to  make  me  marry 
against  my  will  1" 

"  Doubtless  the  person  who  should  attempt  such 
coercion  would  speedily  become  aware  of  his 
error,"  replied  her  brother,  dryly.  "I  meant  no 
offence,  Hannah,  and  no  disrespect  to  my  lady, 
whom  I  honor  from  nw  li^art.  but  you  know  I  have 
but  little  knowledge  of  women's  matters." 

"  Of  course  not !  How  should  you  ?"  said»Mrs. 
Alwright  in  a  mollified  tone.  "  Now  let  me 
look  over  your  shirts  and  bands,  and  see  that  you 
have  something  decent  to  wear.  You  ought  ko 
take  a  wife,  John  Alwright,  if  only  to  sew  on  your 
buttons  and  keep  your  house  in  order." 

Mrs.  Alwright  took  an  early  opportunity  to  ques- 
tion Dame  Evans  respecting  her  family,  and  dis- 
covered that  she  was  nearly  related  to  Colonel 
Winthrop.  Whether  she  ever  communicated  the 
fact  to  her  lady  no  cmo  knew,  but  it  is  certain 
Lady  Peckham  continued  to  treat  Winifred  with 
great  kindness,  and  to  take  an  active  interest  in 
her  education,  even  sometimes  going  so  far  as  to 
instruct  her  herself  in  those  branches  of  knowledge 
which  were  considered  suitable  to  a  young  woman. 
Hence  it  was  that  at  fifteen  Winifred  was  better 
educated  than  many  young  ladies  of  higher  station. 


CHAPTER     fV, 


«  THE     CONFERENCE. 

IT  was,  as  we  have  seen,  nothing  unusual  for 
Winifred  to  be  employed  by  Mrs.  Alwright  in 
gathering  flowers  and  herbs  for  the  still-room,  so 
that  Lady  Peckham  was  not  at  all  surprised  at 
meeting  her  in  the  shrubbery,  or  maze,  as  it  was 
then  called. 

"  Well,  Winifred,  are  you  helping  Mrs.  Alwright, 
to-day  ?"  asked  Lady  Peckham,  kindly.  "  She 
tells  me  you  are  making  great  progress  with  your 
work,  and  she  is  intending  to  teach  you  to  do  car- 
pet-work. But  you  are  not  looking  well,  sweet- 
heart?" 

"I  am  quite  well,  my  lady;  but "— -  Winifred 
glanced  around,  and,  seeing  no  one  near,  drew 
close  to  Lady  Peckham,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  ; 
"I  have  a  message  and  a  token  for  you,  my  lady." 


THE   CONFERENCE.  67 

"And  if  you  have,  why  did  you  not  give  them 
to  me  before  ?  '  asked  Lady  Peckham,  in  some  dis- 
pleasure ;  "  or  why  did  not  you  send  them  to  me 
by  the  hands  c  f  Mrs.  Alwright  ?" 

"Because  I  was  to  put  them  into  your  own 
hands,  and  when  no  one  was  by,"  answered  Wini- 
fred, modestly  but  firmly.  "It  is  a  matter  of  life 
and  death,  my  lady !" 

"Winifred,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Lady 
Peckham,  surprised  and  somewhat  startled.  "  You 
know,  little  one,  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with." 

For  all  reply  Winifred  drew  the  watch  and  the 
packet  from  her  bosom,  and  placed  them  in  Lady 
Peckham's  hands.  The  lady  looked  at  the  watch, 
and  turned  so  pale  that  Winifred,  alarmed,  ex- 
pected her  to  sink  to  the  ground. 

"Who  gave  you  this?"  she  asked,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

•"  If  you  please,  my  lady,  it  is  a  long  story,  and 
Borne  one  might  be  within  hearing,  or  listening 
behind  the  hedge/  replied  Winifred,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  You  are  right !  '  said  Lady  Peckham,  recover- 
ing herself  with  a  great  effort.  "  Come  with  me." 

Winifred  followed  her  benefactress  through  the 
garden  and  along  the  terrace  till  they  came  to  a 
little  door  in  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  many  tur- 


68  WINIFRED. 

rets  which  adorned  the  front  of  the  Hall.  Lady 
Peckham  opened  the  door  with  a  key  which  she 
drew  from  her  pocket,  and  led  the  way  up  a  wind- 
ing stone  stair  lighted  with  narrow  windows,  and 
into  a  little  chamber  where  Winifred  had  never 
been  before.  It  was  very  bare  of  furniture,  having 
only  a  table,  chair,  and  footstool,  with  a  small 
Persian  rug  on  the  floor  before  the  table,  upon 
which  lay  a  large  Bible  and  one  or  two  other  vol- 
umes. A  couple  of  shelves  well  filled  with  books 
hung  against  the  wall,  which  was  decorated  with 
two  or  three  pictures,  one  of  which  Winifred 
recognized  at  once  as  a  portrait  of  the  wounded 
cavalier  who  lay  concealed  at  Dame  Sprat's  cot- 
tage. 

"  Wait  for  me  here!"  said  Lady  Peckham,  and 
went  out,  shutting  the  door  after  her.  Winifred 
waited  for  what  seemed  to  her  a  very  long  time. 
She  looked  at  the  figures  on  the  tapestry  which 
covered  the  walls  and  which  was  adorned  with  thts 
story  of  the  Deluge,  executed  in  colored  wools  and 
silks,  and  wondered  who  had  the  patience  to  do  all 
that  work.  She  read  the  titles  of  all  the  volumes, 
and  thought  Lady  Peckham  must  be  a  happy 
woman  to  possess  so  many  books,  and  have  so 
much  time  to  read  them.  She  looked  at  the  great 


THE  CONFERENCE.  69 

Bible  bound  in  red  velvet,  and  wondered  whether 
there  were  any  pictures  in  it. 

"  I  suppose  this  is  my  lady's  closet,  where  she 
comes  to  read  and  pray,"  she  thought.  "  It  must 
be  very  nice  to  have  such  a  pleasant  room  all  to 
oneself,  with  no  sewing,  or  milking,  or  feeding 
chickens  to  interrupt  just  as  one  gets  to  the  in- 
teresting place.  I  should  not  like  to  be  one  of  the 
court  ladies,  who,  Mrs.  Alwright  says,  spend  all 
their  time  in  dressing  and  dancing  and  painting 
their  faces  ;  but  it  must  be  wondrous  pleasant  to 
have  such  a  closet  as  this,  and  such  a  withdrawing- 
room  as  my  lady's,  with  Indian  cabinets  and  great 
china  jugs  full  of  rose-leaves  and  spices  ;  and  to 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  work  tapestry  and 
distill  medicines  and  cordials.  I  would  not  pat 
any  earthworms  or  woodlice  in  them,  though.  I 
would  only  use  sweet  herbs  and  gums,  and  powder 
of  corals  and  pearls,  and  such  things  as  are  in  the 
receipt  for  Lady  Hewett's  Cordial  Balm,  which  I 
copied  out  for  Mrs.  Alwright." 

Winifred  was  in  some  danger  of  growing  discon- 
tented, when  the  door  of  the  closet  was  again 
opened,  and  Lady  Peckham  entered  Winifred 
could  now  see  that  the  closet  opened  into  a  dress- 
ing-room or  small  parlor,  where  Mrs.  Alwrighl 


TO  WINIFRED. 

was  now  sitting,  and  where  Winifred  had  often 
been  to  show  her  needlework  to  her  lady,  and  to 
read  to  her.  Lady  Peckham  closed  the  door  and 
seemed  about  to  seat  herself  in  her  great  chair,  but 
as  if  suddenly  changing  her  mind,  she  opened  an- 
other little  door  concealed  by  a  hanging  strip  of 
tapestry,  and  beckoned  Winifred  out  upon  a  small 
stone  balcony. 

"No  one  can  listen  here  !"  said  she.  "Tell  me 
now  what  you  have  to  say." 

Winifred  related  her  story  in  as  few  words  as 
possible.  When  she  had  finished,  Lady  Peckham 
stood  for  some  time  in  silence,  looking  abroad  to 
the  horizon  where  was  to  be  seen  a  strip  of  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Bristol  channel. 

"Winifred,"  said  she,  at  last,  "do  you  know 
«yhat  you  have  done  ?" 

"  I  hope  I  have  done  no  wrong,  my  lady,"  re- 
plied Winifred.  "  I  know  there  is  danger,  and  that 
King  Monmouth's  men  are  rebels ;  but,  my  lady, 
if  he  had  been  twice  a  rebel,  I  could  not  have  left 
the  poor  gentleman  there  to  die.  You  would  not 
have  done  so  yourself!"  she  concluded,  rather 
amazed  at  her  own  boldness.  "  I  am  sure  you 
would  not." 

Lady  Peckham  smiled  through  her  tears,  and 


THE  CONFERENCE.  71 

sitting  down  on  a  stone  bench,  she  drew  Winifred 
to  her  and  kissed  her  again  and  again.  "  Oh,  if 
God  had  but  seen  fit  to  give  me  such  a  daughter 
as  you,  my  child,  what  a  treasure  would  you  be  to 
me !  Do  you  know,  sweetheart,  what  you  have 
done  ?  You  have  saved  the  life  of  my  own  dearest 
brother !" 

"That  then  was  the  reason  why  Dame  Sprat 
knew  him  !"  said  Winifred.  "  She  called  him  Mas- 
ter Arthur  at  once,  and  when  I  told  my  grandfa- 
ther, he  said  he  thought  as  much.  And  was  that 
really  Mr.  Carew?" 

"It  really  was  Arthur  Carew!"  replied  Lady 
Peckham.  "  The  same  little  brother  whom  I  have 
nursed  and  tended  many  a  day  (for  he  was  much 
younger  than  myself),  and  who  was  my  greatest 
comfort  when  I  was  in  deep  affliction.  My  own 
dear  little  Arthur,  whom  I  loved  as  my  own  child  I 
He  was  suspected,  though  most  unjustly,  of  taking 
part  in  the  last  plot  against  King  Charles,  and  fled 
o  Holland,  where  he  was  much  befriended  by  the 
unhappy  Duke  of  Monmouth.  It  must  have  been 
by  the  duke's  persuasion  that  he  was  induced  to 
joi  i  in  this  last  mad  undertaking.  There  would 
be  no  hope  for  him  if  he  were  taken.  But  he  must 
not  remain  in  l,hat  miserable  hovel,  Winifred.  You 


72  WINIFRED. 

will  help,  will  you  not,  to  bring  him  up  to  the 
Hall?" 

"  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,  my 
ludy  1"  replied  Winifred,  -but" 

" But  what,  child?" 

"  I  think  he  is  safer  where  he  is  than  he  would 
be  at  the  Hall,  madam.  Dame  Sprat  lives  on  the 
edge  of  the  waste,  in  a  most  lonesome  place,  where 
no  one  passes  by  and  no  one  ever  goes  but  our 
own  family.  She  is  so  poor  that  no  one  will  sus- 
pect her  of  having  anything  to  spare  for  others. 
If  Mr.  Carew  is  brought  to  the  Hall,  more  than 
one  person  must  be  in  the  secret.  Sir  Edward's 
friends  will  be  coming  and  going,  even  Colonel 
Kirke  himself,  perhaps,  for  Sir  Edward  is  well 
known  to  be  a  warm  friend  to  the  king." 

"  That  is  true !"  said  the  lady  ;  "  and  yet  my 
heart  aches  to  think  of  my  poor  brother  lying  in 
that  miserable  hovel,  which  will  hardly  keep  out 
the  weather." 

"  Dame  Sprat  has  lived  there  ten  years !"  Win- 
ifred ventured  to  observe.  "I  have  heard  my 
grandfather  say  that  she  once  lived  in  as  good  a 
house  as  ours,  with  servants  of  her  own,  and  every- 
thing comfortable  about  her." 

"Your  words  go  to  my  heart,  Winifred  1"  said 


THE  CONFEBENCE.  73 

Lady  Peckham.  "  It  was  my  father  who  turned 
Dame  Sprat  off  his  land,  for  the  part  her  husband 
took  in  the  civil  wars.  What  security  can  I  have 
that  the  old  woman  will  not  avenge  her  wrongs 
upon  my  unfortunate  brother,  no\v  that  he  is  in 
her  power?" 

"  Indeed,  my  lady,  you  need  have  no  such  fear  I*1 
replied  Winifred,  eagerly.  "You  do  not  know 
Dame  Sprat,  or  you  would  never  think  of  such  a 
thing.  I  am  certain  she  would  not  betray  any  one, 
teast  of  all  her  enemy." 

"  And  why  least  of  all  her  enemy,  little  one  ?" 
"  Because  she  is  a  godly  Christian  woman, 
aaadam,  one  who  loves  her  Bible  and  her  Saviour 
and  tries  to  be  like  Him.  She  never  complains 
of  her  lot,  poor  and  hard  as  it  is,  for  she  says  it 
would  be  foolish  to  quarrel  with  a  shelter  which 
she  may  leave  any  minute  for  the  Courts  of  her 
Father's  hoase  in  heaven  ;  and  while  she  is  daily 
and  hourly  expecting  to  go  to  meet  her  Saviour,  I 
am  sure  she  v:ould  never  dare  to  disobey  His 
kjommands  by  rendering  evil  for  evil.  Besides  I  do 
Qot  think  she  bears  a  grudge  against  Mr.  Arthur 
Carew  for  anything  his  father  may  have  done. 
She  welcomed  him  as  though  he  had  been  a  prince 
of  Jhe  blood,  and  would  gladly  have  given  up  fa 


74  WINIFRED. 

him  hei  own  bed,  only  he  would  not  take  it.  In- 
deed, my  lady,  if  you  knew  Danie  Sprat  as  I  do, 
you  would  never  think  of  her  betraying  anybody  I" 

"  Aye,  you  have  doubtless  a  great  knowledge  of 
the  world  and  of  men,"  said  the  lady,  smiling  sadly. 
**  When  you  have  seen  as  much  of  both  as  I,  you 
may  be  more  distrustful." 

"Then  I  hope  I  shall  never  see  more,"  said 
Winifred.  "  I  do  not  like  to  distrust  people  ; 
but  I  am  sure  of  Dame  Sprat !" 

"  And  you  do  really  think  my  brother  would  be 
safe  with  her  —  safer  than  he  would  be  at  the 
Hall?" 

"  I  do,  my  lady.  And  you  know,"  she  added,, 
timidly,  "  it  is  our  secret  as  well  as  your  ladyship's, 
and  if  the  dame  betrays  us  we  are  utterly  ruined, 
without  remedy." 

"  True !"  said  Lady  Peckham.  "  You  are  rery 
young,  my  maid,  to  be  burdened  with  secrets 
which  concern  men's  lives.  Suppose  you  should 
be  brought  before  the  chief -justice  and  questioned, 
could  you  have  the  firmness  to  keep  silence?" 

"  I  think  so,  madam." 

"You  have  a  very  good  conceit  of  yourself 
Winifred,"  said  Lady  Peckham,  not  altogether 
pleased  with  the  readiness  of  the  answer.  "  Take 


THE   CONFERENCE.  75 

care  that  it  does  not  betray  you.  Pride  goeth 
before  destruction." 

"  If  I  may  venture  to  say  so  much,  I  think  you 
do  not  quite  understand  me,"  said  Winifred,  mod- 
estly. "I  was  thinking  the  matter  over  as  I  came 
home  through  the  fields  last  night,  and  perplexing 
myself  with  the  same  question,  whether  I  should 
be  able  to  keep  the  secret,  when  all  at  once  it 
seemed  to  come  to  me  that  I  was  taking  thought 
for  to-morrow,  and  worrying  myself  about  things 
which  might  never  happen.  And  then  I  remem- 
bered a  great  many  such  texts  as  these  :  '  My  grace 
is  sufficient  for  thee,  for  my  strength  is  made  per- 
fect in  weakness  ;'  '  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  for- 
sake thee  ;'  and  a  great  many  more  such  verses  of 
Scripture.  So  then  I  thought  God  has  always 
helped  me  when  I  have  asked  Him  heretofore,  and 
why  should  I  begin  to  doubt  His  love  now,  when 
I  need  His  aid  more  than  ever  ?  It  is  not  because 
I  have  any  strength  of  my  own,  but  because  I  hope 
He  will  give  it  me." 

"  You  are  a  strange  child,  Winifred  !  How  dc 
you  come  to  have  such  grave  thoughts,  when  other 
girls  of  your  age  are  thinking  only  of  new  gowns 
and  gingerbread  ?" 

"  Please,  my  ladv,  I  like  new  gowns  and  ginger- 


76  WIMFRED. 

bread  too,"  replied  Winifred,  smiling.  "  My  father 
has  promised  to  bring  me  a  new  gown  all  the  way 
from  the  Indies  when  he  comes  home  again,  and 
also  a  china  pot  full  of  sweetmeats." 

"  That  is  spoken  like  a  child  again  1"  said  Lady 
Peckham,  smiling  in  her  turn  ;  "  and  now,  Wini- 
fred, you  shall  stay  and  dine  with  Mrs.  Alwright 
while  I  consider  what  is  best  for  us  to  do.  We 
must  let  her  into  the  secret.  I  see  no  help  for 
that,  since  we  shall  need  her  assistance,  but  I  am 
sure  of  her,  and  indeed  it  is  only  her  due.  But 
oh,  my  maid,  be  careful.  Remember  how  much 
may  hang  upon  one  careless  word !" 

"I  shall  remember,  my  lady,"  said  Winifred, 
quietly,  while  she  could  not  help  thinking  that 
there  was  not  much  danger  of  her  being  careless 
BO  long  as  her  own  life  and  that  of  her  friends  de- 
pended upon  her  prudence,  as  well  as  the  life  oi 
Mr,  Arthur  Carew. 


CHAPTER    V. 


MKS.  ALWKIGHT  rose  up  with  a  firm  and 
somewhat  dissatisfied  countenance,  as  her 
lady  entered  with  Winifred.  Fond  as  she  was  of 
t*he  child,  she  was  not  well  pleased  that  Winifred 
should  have  so  long  a  conference  with  her  lady 
from  which  she  herself  was  excluded,  and  she  had 
already  prepared  in  her  own  mind  a  lecture  upon 
forwardness  and  presumption  of  which  she  meant 
to  give  Winifred  the  benefit  so  soon  as  they  should 
be  alone  together.  This  lecture,  however  was 
destined  never  to  be  delivered. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me,  Alwright?"  said  Lady 
Peckharn.  "  Winifred,  you  may  remain  here  and 
amuse  yourself,  if  you  will,  with  the  pictures  in 
that  great  book  on  the  table.  Keep  the  door  shut, 
and  inform  me  if  any  one  wants  me." 
7* 


78  WINIFRED. 

The  book  was  well  worth  looking  at,  being  a 
Bible  illustrated  with  wood-cuts  by  Albert  Durer, 
the  father,  as  he  might  almost  be  called,  of  wood- 
engraving.  Winifred  almost  forgot  her  mighty 
secret,  as  she  studied  the  pictures  of  Joseph  and 
his  brethren,  of  David  and  Goliath,  of  Samson 
and  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  and  above  all  those  in  the 
Gospels,  of  the  shepherds  coming  with  their  humble 
offerings,  of  the  wise  men  presenting  their  gifts, 
and  of  Mary  and  Martha  in  their  house  at  Bethany. 
Her  natural  good  taste  and  feeling  led  her  fully  to 
appreciate  the  beauty  and  sentiment  of  the  pic- 
tures, while  her  ignorance  prevented  her  from  see- 
ing the  various  incongruities  of  scenery,  costume, 
&c.  For  aught  she  knew  Jerusalem  might  have 
been  adorned  with  just  such  steeples  and  gables, 
and  Martha  mi/^ht  have  kept  her  dishes  in  just  such 
an  open  carved  dresser  as  that  in  the  picture.  She 
had  not  nearly  finished  the  volume,  when  Mrs. 
Alwright  appeared,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping. 
She  took  Winifred  by  the  hand  without  speaking 
a  word,  and  led  her  through  various  galleries  and 
up  a  turnpike  stair  to  her  own  private  chamber, 
when,  having  bolted  the  doo**,  she  caught  the  child 
in  her  arms,  and  covered  her  with  kisses,  mingled 
with  tears,  sobs,  arid  words  of  endearment.  Wini- 


JACK'S  MISFORTUNE.  79 

frod  was  amazed,  for  Mrs.  Alwright  Lad  usually 
thought  it  necessary  that  her  pupil,  like  all  young 
people,  should  be  kept  down  to  her  proper  place, 
and  made  to  understand  that  if  she  were  treated 
with  any  consideration,  it  arose  solely  from  the 
kindness  of  her  elders  and  superiors,  and  not  in  the 
least  from  any  merits  of  her  own.  Winifred  had 
never  before  received  from  her  good  old  friend  any 
greater  token  of  approbation  than  a  pat  on  the 
head  or  a  few  carefully  measured  words  of  praise. 
"  Oh,  my  dear  lamb !  my  blessed  child !"  sobbed 
Mrs.  Al wright.  "  To  think  that  you  should  have 
done  such  a  thing  !  That  you  should  have  saved 
Master  Arthur,  whom  I  have  carried  in  my  arms 
when  he  was  a  baby,  and  taught  him  his  letters 
with  my  own  hands,  my  dear — and  risking  your 
precious  life  abroad  in  the  lonesome  fields  at  mid- 
night, and  the  dew  and  all,  enough  to  give  you 
your  death !  You  shall  have  two  bottles  of  the 
rose  cordial  to  take  home  with  you  ;  and  mind 
you  take  a  glass  whenever  you  come  in,  to  prevent 
catching  cold.  But  Master  Arthur,  living  in  that 
lonesome  place,  along  with  Dame  Sprat !  She  was 
always  a  good  woman  and  kind  to  the  poor,  and  1 
never  did  justify  my  Lord  Carew  in  turning  he? 
off  his  land,  where  she  and  hers  had  lived  for  him  - 


80  V,  DJIFRED. 

dreds  of  years,  even  before  my  lord's  ancestors 
came  from  Normandy,  which  they  did  with  the 
Conqueror,  my  dear !  And  all  because  her  hus 
band  was  for  the  Protector,  which,  for  the  mattei 
of  that,  so  were  some  other  folks  who  shall  be 
nameless,  though  they  turned  round  quickly 
enough  when  the  sun  shone  on  the  other  side  of 
the  hedge.  Dame  Sprat  shall  have  my  duffel  gown 
and  my  gray  cloak  to  keep  her  warm  this  winter, 
and  I  will  knit  her  some  woollen  stockings  with  my 
own  hands.  But  poor  dear  Master  Arthur,  how  he 
could  be  so  mad  I  can't  think,  only  he  was  always 
in  mischief  from  a  boy,  when  he  used  to  steal 
my  saffron  cakes,  and  was  flogged  at  school  for 
helping  to  bar  out  the  master.  But  to  think 
of  him  wounded  and  lying  out  in  the  fields  all 
night !  Dear,  dear !  it  is  enough  to  break  one's 
heart!" 

All  this  and  much  me  re  did  Mrs.  Alwright  pour 
out  with  many  sobs  and  little  regard  to  her  stops 
or  her  grammar,  tiK.  Winifred,  terrified  for  the 
consequences,  reminded  her  that  it  would  be  highly 
dangerous  for  any  one  to  iear  Master  Arthur'a 
name  mentioned,  or  even  tc  guess  that  anything 
unusual  was  the  matter. 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear,  I  know  it !  and  you  shall 


JACKS  MISFORTUNE.  81 

see  that  no  one  shall  ever  guess  anything  from  me. 
I  shall  feel  better  now  that  I  have  had  my  cry  out ! 
But  poor  dear  Master  Arthur,  that  was  such  a 
lovely  baby,  and  my  poor  dear  lady  loved  him  more 
like  a  son  than  a  brother  " 

"  I  think  I  hear  some  one  coming  up-stairs  1" 
said  Winifred,  fearing  lest  the  cry  should  commence 
again.  Mrs.  Alwright  started  up  and  wiped  her 
eyes  vigorously. 

"  Open  the  door,  Winifred,  while  I  wash  my 
face,"  said  she.  "  It  will  be  only  Betty,  coming  to 
say  that  our  dinner  is  ready.  You  are  to  stay  and 
dine  with  me,  my  dear,  and  then  you  shall  help  me 
to  make  the  conserve  of  hips,  and  I  will  send  a 
pot  of  it  to  your  good  mother  against  winter 
tomes." 

But  Betty  had  more  to  tell.  The  herd-boy  had 
some  up  to  say  that  Winifred  was  needed  at  home, 
because  her  brother  had  fallen  from  a  tree  and 
hurt  himself  very  badly  ;  also  Betty  gave  notice 
that  Colonel  Kirke  was  come  to  dine  and  sup  with 
Sir  Edward,  and  Mrs.  Alwright  was  wanted  to 
attend  to  the  pastry  and  other  additions  to  the 
dinner  which  the  presence  of  such  an  important 
guest  rendered  necessary. 

"Dear  me!"  said  Mrs.  Alwright,  "how  thingg 


82  WINIFRED. 

do  happen  all  together !  I  hope  that  unlucky  boy 
has  broken  no  bones,  but  it  would  be  just  like  him. 
I  often  wonder  why  boys  should  be  made  at  all, 
they  are  such  plagues.  One  can  do  something 
with  girls  in  the  way  of  needlework  and  giving 
them  dolls  to  play  with,  but  men  ought  to  be  made 
already  grown  up,  and  then  they  are  plagues 
enough.  You  must  go  home  at  once,  Winifred, 
without  waiting  to  finish  your  work,  and  mind  you 
remember  what  I  have  told  you.  Your  mother 
will  need  you,  for  at  such  times  even  little  girls  can 
be  of  use,  if  they  are  not  idle  and  careless,  as  too 
many  are.  Betty,  why  do  you  stand  staring  and 
listening  there  at  the  door,  instead  of  getting  the 
fowls  ready  for  the  spit?  Go  about  your  work 
directly,  and  let  me  find  the  chickens  neatly  diressed 
when  I  come  down-stairs.  Come  into  the  store- 
room with  me,  Winifred,  and  I  will  give  you  a 
basket  and  medicine  for  the  poor  woman  you 
spoke  of." 

Mrs.  Alwright's  store-room  was  a  model  ol  its 
kind.  The  stone  floor  was  as  white  as  hands1  could 
make  it,  and  the  wood-work  shone  with  much  rub- 
bing. Every  inch  of  wall  was  covered  with  cup- 
boards, shelves,  and  drawers,  containing  piles  upon 
piles  of  fine  linen,  much  of  it  of  Mm  Alwright's 


TACK'8   MISFOETUNE.  83 

owu  spinning,  and  jars,  pots,  and  boxes  innumerable 
filled  with  all  sorts  of  good  things,  while  hains, 
sausages,  bundles  of  sweet  herbs,  and  bunches  of 
onions  and  g.irlic  dangled  from  the  ceiling.  It 
was  evident  to  the  most  unpractised  eye  that  all 
these  good  things  srere  presided  over  by  a  vigilant 
and  capable  gaaA'c'ian,  for  nothing  was  out  of 
place — everything  \?£&  labelled,  covered,  and  se- 
cured in  the  most  approved  manner,  and  not  a 
stray  crumb  was  left  lyir-g  anywhere  to  tempt  the 
mice.  Mrs.  Alwright  kok  down  a  good-sized 
basket  and  began  filling  it,  taking  the  opportunity, 
winch,  indeed,  she  seldom  lost,  of  delivering  a  lit- 
tle moral  lecture  for  Winifr  ed's  benefit. 

"  You  see  now,  Winifred,  the  advantage  of  hav- 
ing a  place  for  everything,  and  everything  in  its 
place.  If  I  were  obliged  to  hunt  all  over  the  house 
for  a  basket,  and  then  look  half  an  hour  for  every 
individual  thing  I  wanted  to  put  into  it,  it  would 
take  me  half  the  day ;  but  now  you  see  I  have 
everything  ready  to  my  hand.  These  saffron  cakes 
and  these  clean  napkins  and  handkerchiefs  are  for 
Master  Arthur.  He  used  to  be  very  fond  of  saffron 
cakes,  poor  dear  young  gentleman !  This  bit  of 
bacon  and  these  sausages  are  for  the  dar.  e,  and 
also  this  bottle  of  ginger  cordial,  which  will  be 


84  WINIFRED. 

warming  and  comforting  for  her  poor  old  bones. 
Now,  can  you  carry  any  more  ?" 

Winifred  lifted  the  basket,  and  thought  she 
could 

"  Well  then,  here  is  the  rose  cordial  for  yourself 
and  a  cake  of  gingerbread  ;  but  mind  you  must  not 
let  Jack  have  any  of  that  to-day.  And  here  are 
twt  clean  shirts  for  Master  Arthur.  They  are  Sir 
Edward's,  and  are  old  and  worn,  but  they  will  be 
better  than  none.  So  now  go  along,  my  dear,  and 
may  God  bless  you !  Come  again  as  soon  as  you 
can.  And,  Winifred !"  she  called  after  her,  "  don't 
forget  to  tell  your  good  mother  to  send  up  the 
green  geese  as  soon  as  she  can  get  them  ready. 
She  need  not  dress  them.  Betty  and  her  niece  can 
see  to  that." 

"  Don't  you  mind  Mrs.  Alwright,  Miss  Winifred !" 
said  good-natured  Betty,  as  Winifred  presently 
passed  out  by  the  kitchen  door.  "Her  bark  is 
worse  than  her  bite,  we  all  know  that.  I  see  she 
has  been  lecturing  you,  but  that  is  all  for  your  good. 
Young  folks  must  learn.  She  scolds  me  too,  but 
la  1  1  don't  mind.  I  know  her  ways,  and  take  her 
the  year  round,  you  will  not  find  many  better 
people  than  Mrs.  Alwright,  look  where  you  will" 

"  And  that  is  very  true,  Betty,"  said   Winifred, 


JACK'S  MISFORTUNE.  85 

not  at  all  displeased  to  see  Betty  go  off  on  a  wrong 
scent.  "  I  am  sure  she  is  very  good  to  me.  But  I 
must  hurry  home  as  fast  as  I  can." 

"  Aye,  and  you  have  a  heavy  basket  to  carry — 
for  some  poor  body,  I  warrant  me  !  That  is  an- 
other of  her  ways.  She  will  rail  at  my  poor  sister 
for  having  so  many  children,  and  not  keeping  them 
cleaner,  but  she  always  ends  by  giving  her  some- 
thing to  make  over  for  them,  and  maybe  a  loaf  of 
white  bread  for  a  treat.  Then  there  was  Madge 
Wilkin" 

"  I  really  must  go,  Betty !"  said  Winifred,  cut- 
ting short  the  catalogue  of  Mrs.  Alwright's  good 
deeds,  to  which  at  another  time  she  would  gladly 
have  listened.  "  Mother  will  need  me,  I  am  sure, 
and  I  want  to  see  poor  Jack." 

"  Aye,  go  along,  there's  a  dear  maid !  It  is  some 
comfort  to  have  you  about,"  said  Betty,  continuing 
her  remarks  for  the  benefit  of  her  own  niece,  a 
girl  about  Winifred's  age,  who  was  cleaning  somo 
pots  near  by.  "  Not  like  some  girls,  who  cannot 
even  scour  a  saucepan  without  blacking  themselves 
from  head  to  foot.  Why  can't  you  take  pattern  by 
Miss  Winifred,  Cicily  ?  You  never  saw  her  in  such 
a  mess — no,  not  when  she  was  no  bigger  than  my 
thumb!" 

8 


86 

Winifred  was  not  destined  to  reach  home  with- 
out farther  interruption.  She  was  walking  very 
fast  down  the  avenue,  with  her  eyes  bent  on  the 
ground,  when  she  was  nearly  run  over  by  two  gen- 
tlemen, who  were  coming  in  the  opposite  direction 
with  their  guns  and  dogs,  ard  folio  wed  by  a  groom 
leading  their  horses.  Winifred  looked  up  with  a 
start,  and  recognized  Sir  Edward  Peckham.  She 
had  never  seen  the  other  gentleman  in  the  richly 
laced  uniform,  but  she  guessed  at  once  that  the 
fierce,  sun-burnt  face,  bold,  wicked-looking  eyes, 
and  long  mustache  belonged  to  no  other  than  the 
dreaded  Colonel  Kirke,  who  was  feared  and  hated 
almost  as  much  as  the  chief-justice  himself,  for  his 
cruelty  and  rapacity.  Her  color  rose  and  her 
heart  beat  fast  at  the  sight  of  the  man  whom  she 
associated  with  so  much  misery  and  distress.  She 
courtesied,  and  would  have  passed  on,  but  she  was 
not  to  escape  so  easily. 

"  Holloa !  what  little  puritan  have  we  here  ?" 
said  the  soldier,  in  a  loud,  coarse  voice,  and  seizing 
Winifred  by  the  arm.  "Not  so  fast,  my  pretty 
maid !"  he  added,  as  Winifred  would  have  escaped. 
"  What,  do  you  think  I  make  a  breakfast  of  chil- 
dren every  morning,  as  some  folks  say,  that  you 
are  so  afraid  of  me  ?" 


JACK'S  MISFORTUNE.  87 

"  I  ain  not  afraid  of  you,"  said  Winifred,  stand- 
ing still  and  looking  her  captor  in  the  face,  while 
her  large  gray  eyes  flashed  with  indignation.  "  My 
brother  is  sick,  and  my  mother  needs  me  at  home. 
I  pray  you  let  me  pass  on  my  way !" 

"  Your  brother  is  sick,  eh  ?  That  means  he  has 
been  out  with  Monmouth  and  got  hurt,  I  suppose  1 
Where  does  this  brother  of  yours  live,  mistress  ? 
I  must  look  after  him  I" 

"  My  brother  is  only  twelve  years  old,  and  was 
hurt  in  falling  from  a  tree,"  replied  Winifred, 
calmly.  "  He  and  I  live  with  our  grandfather,  at 
the  gray  house  on  the  hill  yonder." 

"WTiat,  you  are  old  Master  Evans'  granddaugh- 
ter!" said  Sir  Edward,  kindly.  "You  are  so 
grown  I  did  not  know  you!  This  maid  is  a 
favorite  of  Lady  Peckham's,  Colonel  Kirke,  and  I 
can  vouch  for  the  loyalty  of  her  whole  family.  I 
pray  you  let  her  pass  on  her  way,  as  she  desires." 

"  My  lady  knows  how  to  choose  her  favorites,  I 
should  say  1"  returned  Colonel  Kirke.  "  I  protest 
I  have  not  seen  a  prettier  rustic  damsel.  Well, 
give  me  a  kiss  for  your  ransom,  my  shepherdess, 
and  here  is  a  gold  piece  for  you  all  the  way  from 
Africa,  to  make  up  for  the  fright  I  have  given  you." 

Trembling  more    with   indication    than    fear, 


88  WINEFKED. 

Winifred  submitted  to  the  kiss,  and  received  the 
piece  of  gold,  which  she  inwardly  determined  to 
put  into  the  poor-box  the  very  first  time  she  went 
to  church.  "  It  looks  as  though  it  had  blood  upon 
it,"  she  thought,  as  she  went  on  her  way  ;  "  and 
what  an  evil-looking  man  he  is !  I  wonder  how 
Sir  Edward  can  endure  to  have  him  in  his  house. 
But  they  say  he  is  always  for  keeping  well  with 
whatever  party  is  uppermost.  I  am  glad  that 
Colonel  Kirke  did  not  take  notice  of  my  basket. 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  said  to  account 
for  some  of  the  things  in  it.  Poor  Jack !  I  trust 
he  is  not  very  much  hurt.  It  is  unlucky  that  he 
should  take  just  this  busy  time  for  his  mishap.  I 
fear  I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  to  Dame  Sprat's  at 
all  to-day.  They  have  food  enough  to  last  till  to- 
morrow, that  is  one  comfort." 

When  Winifred  arrived  at  home,  she  found  both 
pain  and  pleasure  awaiting  her.  The  pain  was  the 
news  that  Jack  was  indeed  very  much  hurt,  having 
broken  his  arm  and  bruised  himself  severely.  He 
had  climbed  the  tree  to  the  magpie's  nest,  secured 
a  pair  of  the  young  ones,  and  come  half  way  down 
with  his  prize,  when  one  of  the  dry  limbs  gave  way, 
and  he  caire  to  the  ground,  killing  the  poor  young 
birds  in  his  fall. 


JACK'S   MfSFCKTUNE.  89 

The  vicar,  who  possessed  considerable  knowledge 
of  surgery,  happened  to  be  riding  by  at  the  time, 
saw  the  tumble,  and  had  been  the  first  on  the  spot. 
He  carried  the  poor  boy  into  the  house,  set  his 
arm,  and  gave  his  mother  directions  for  his  treat- 
ment, adding  a  special  injunction  to  let  the  patient 
have  no  food  stronger  than  gruel  or  weak  broth 
till  he  came  again.     This  injunction   seemed   tc 
poor  Jack  a  greater  calamity  even  than  his  broken 
arm.     He  was  very  fond  of  good  things.     He  re- 
membered the  nice  jellies  and  cordials,  the  beaten- 
up  eggs  and  roasted  fowls,  which  had  been  pre- 
pared for  Winifred  when  she  was  slowly  recovering 
from  her  long  fever,  and  he  had  comforted  himself 
with  the  thought  of  all  these  dainties  for  his  pro- 
spective pain  and  confinement.     The  water-gruel 
law  was  a  terrible  blow,  and  poor  Jack  was  in  very 
low  spirits  indeed.     He  had  the  additional  discom- 
fort of  knowing  that  his  trouble  was  all  his  own 
fault,  for  he  had  been  strictly  forbidden  to  climb 
the  tree,  and  he  had  waited  till  his  grandfather 
was  away  in  the  barley-field,  and  his  mother  busy 
in  the  dairy,  before  he  made  the  attempt.     As  his 
grandfather  said,  he  was  bold  in  the  wrong  place 
and  cowardly  in   the  wrong  place.     He  was  not 
8* 


90  WINIFRED. 

afraid  to  disobey,  and  be  was  afraid  to  do  a  neces- 
sary errand. 

The  good  news  which  met  Winifred  was  the 
arrival  of  a  letter  and  a  parcel  from  her  father, 
whose  ship  had  come  into  Plymouth,  instead  of  into 
Bristol  as  usual,  having  been  damaged  by  a  galo 
not  far  from  the  coast.  The  parcel  contained,  be- 
sides tokens  for  the  rest  of  the  family,  the  promised 
new  gown  for  Winifred,  and  better  still  three  new 
books !  One  of  these  was  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress," 
then  lately  published,  with  wood-cuts,  which,  how- 
ever rude  they  might  appear  besi  le  the  latest  edi- 
tion of  the  Tract  Society  and  the  Sunday-School 
Union,  were  marvels  of  art  in  the  eyes  of  our  young 
friend.  The  other  books  were  "  A  Serious  Call  to 
a  Devout  and  Holy  Life,"  by  Mr.  William  Law, 
and  the  "  Paradise  Lost  "  of  John  Milton. 

"  These  seem  but  grave  books  for  a  young  maid 
like  Winifred,"  wrote  her  father  ;  "  but  I  have  read 
the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  believe  my  serious 
daughter  will  care  more  for  it  than  for  any  fairy 
tale.  The  other  books  were  given  me  by  a  very 
grave  and  religious  gentleman  who  went  out  to 
India  on  board  our  ship  ;  so  I  doubt  not  Winifred 
will  be  pleased  with  them.  I  have  just  now  heard 
"»f  the  terrible  things  which  have  been  happening 


JACK'S  MISFORTUNE.  91 

among  you,  and  I  am  thankful  that  none  of  our 
family  have  been  engaged  in  them  ;  but  I  doubt  I 
shall  hear  heavy  tidings  of  some  of  our  neighbois. 
I  cannot  leave  the  ship  just  at  present,  but  I  shall 
come  aa  soon  as  possible." 

Delighted  as  Winifred  was  with  her  new  trea- 
sures, she  had  scant  time  to  examine  them.  She 
was  wanted  everywhere  afc  once — by  Jack's  bed- 
side, to  tell  him  tales  and  sing  him  to  sleep  ;  in  the 
dairy,  to  churn,  while  Priscy  carried  their  lunch  to 
the  mon  in  the  barley-field  ;  then  to  feed  the  fowls, 
and  take  especial  care  of  a  brood  of  late  chickens  ; 
to  count  up  the  ducks  and  drive  home  the  young 
turkeys.  She  had  hardly  time  to  eat  her  supper, 
and  any  visit  to  Dame  Sprat  was  of  course  out  of 
the  question  ;  so  she  carefully  locked  up  the  basket 
U  st  it  should  tell  tales,  and  set  about  her  multifa- 
rious tasks  with  her  usual  neatness  and  dispatch. 
As  Dame  Magdalen  said,  the  child  was  run  off  her 
feet !  So  that  when  bed-time  came,  she  was  glad 
to  go  to  bed  without  even  asking  to  sit  by  tlie  fire 
and  examine  her  precious  new  books. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


A     NARROW     ESCAPE. 

TT  was  not  till  the  next  afternoon  that  Winifred 
JL  found  time  to  visit  Dame  Sprat  again,  and  then 
it  was  only  by  giving  Jack  full  possession  of  her 
new  book,  that  she  was  able  to  leave  him  even  for 
an  hour.  Jack  had  usually  rather  a  contempt  for 
Winifred's  society,  classing  her  with  the  rest  of 
"women  folks,"  who  he  considered  were  made 
only  to  wait  upon  their  fathers  and  brothers.  But 
the  poor  boy  was  no  braver  about  bearing  pain 
than  he  was  about  anything  else,  and  he  had  a  groat 
deal  of  pain  to  bear.  Nobody  could  turn  and 
smooth  his  hot  pillow,  or  cool  his  feverish  hand  a 
and  forehead,  or  put  his  bed  to  rights  without 
hurting  him  so  well  as  Winnie,  not  even  his  mother ; 
and  above  all.  Winifred  had  never  once  said  or 
even  looked  "  I  told  you  so !"  or,  "  Just  good  enough 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  93 

for  you  !"  remarks  which  lie  had  to  bear  often 
enough  from  the  maids  Priscy  and  Jenny,  with 
whom  he  was  no  favorite.  Bat  by  the  afternoon 
of  the  next  day,  Jack  began  to  feel  better.  He 
was  greatly  taken  by  the  pictures  of  Giant  Despair 
and  Apollyon  in  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  he 
agreed,  if  Winnie  would  leave  him  the  book,  to 
allow  her  tc  go  to  Dame  Sprat's,  provided  she  did 
not  stay  too  long.  Winifred  was  glad  to  get  away 
upon  any  terms.  She  took  on  her  arm  the  basket 
Mrs.  Alwright  had  sent,  and  set  off  across  the  fields, 
thinking,  as  she  went,  of  Christian  setting  out  on 
his  pj7grimage  with  his  burden  on  his  back,  of  the 
little  wicket-gate,  and  of  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman, 
who,  she  fancied,  might  have  looked  a  good  deal 
like  Mir  Edward  Peckham. 

When  she  reached  the  dame's  cottage,  she  was 
Eurprised  not  to  see  the  good  woman  sitting  by  her 
window,  as  usual.  "Something  must  have  hap- 
pened!" she  thought,  and  quickening  her  steps 
she  entered  without  knocking.  A  curious  scene 
met  her  eyes  as  she  opened  the  door.  The  poor 
old  dame  was  in  bed,  apparently  unable  to  rise, 
but  everything  in  the  hut  was  in  its  usual  order  ; 
a  saucepan  was  simmering  on  the  embers,  and 
Mr=  Carew  himself,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  was  in  the 


94  WINIFRED. 

act  of  sweeping  up  the  hearth.  He  started  as 
Winifred  entered,  but  quickly  recovered  himself 
when  he  recognized  the  visitor. 

"  So  it  is  you,  my  fearless  little  guide  I"  said  he, 
laughing,  and  blushing  a  little.  "  The  dame  is  ill 
with  rheumatism,  and  I  could  do  no  less  than  take 
care  of  her.  I  fear  I  am  but  a  rough  sick-nurse, 
though  I  think  I  may  fairly  call  myself  a  tolerable 
cook.  Eh,  dame  ?" 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  think  you  are  very  skilful  in 
both  ways,"  replied  Daine  Sprat  ;  "but  I  fear  you 
are  running  a  great  risk." 

"Indeed  you  are,  Mr.  Carew  !"  said  Winifred, 
earnestly.  "  You  are  all  the  time  in  danger  of  being 
surprised.  Think  if  it  had  been  anybody  but  me, 
who  stole  upon  you  so  silently  just  now.  You 
must  needs  be  content  to  lie  concealed  during  the 
day,  at  least  for  the  present.  Colonel  Kirke  is  still 
in  the  neighborhood,  though  the  soldiers  are  mostly 
gone.  He  dined  with  Sir  Edward  at  the  Hall  yes- 
terday, and  he  is  to  be  with  him  for  several  days. 
Bethink  you,  sir,  it  is  not  only  your  own  safety, 
but  that  of  all  your  friends,  which  depends  upon 
your  prudence!" 

"Even  so,  my  wise  little  monitor!  I  know  all 
that  as  well  as  you,  but  I  could  not  see  my  good, 


A  NARROW  ESGATE.  95 

kind  hostess  suffering  so  long  as  I  was  able  to  help. 
Now  that  she  is  in  better  hands,  I  will  get  me 
into  my  lair  again,  so  soon  as  you  have  told 
me  the  news  from  the  Hall.  Did  you  give  my 
sister  the  watch  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  next  morning.  She  has  sent  yon 
a  message,  and  Mrs.  Alwright  some  clothes  and 
other  things,  which  are  in  the  basket.  She  has 
also  sent  you  some  sausages  and  bacon,  dame,  and 
some  ginger  cordial ;  and  she  bade  me  say  she  had 
a  gown  and  cloak  for  you  against  cold  weather." 

"  She  is  very  good !"  said  Dame  Sprat.  "  Mrs. 
Alwright  was  always  kind  to  the  poor,  and  her 
mother  before  her.  I  knew  the  family  well !" 

"  And  you  say  Kirke  is  at  the  Hall  ?"  said  Arthur 
Carew. 

"Yes,  and  I  understand  he  is  to  remain  some 
time,  for  the  sake  of  the  shooting.  I  saw  him  and 
Sir  Edward  with  their  guns  and  dogs,  yesterday 
morning." 

"Aye,  my  cautious  brother-in-law  will  be  friends 
with  whichever  party  is  uppermost,  whatever 
company  he  may  keep  in  so  doing!"  muttered 
Arthur.  "  I  have  seen  the  day  when  he  would  not 
Lave  been  very  fond  of  Kirk^'s  society.  No  chance 
of  any  help  from  him  !  But  what  said  my  sister?" 


96  TVINIFRED. 

"  My  lady  and  I  talked  the  matter  over,"  said 
Winifred,  gravely,  and  not  observing  the  slight 
smile  exchanged  between  the  dame  and  Arthur  at 
the  words.  "  She  bade  me  say  that  she  would 
gladly  have  you  at  the  Hall,  but  she  judges  you 
are  safer  here  for  the  present  than  you  could  be 
anywhere  else.  And,  dame,"  continued  Winifred, 
"  my  lady  prays  you  to  forget  all  past  cause  of  un- 
kindness,  of  which  there  has  been  more  than 
enough,  and  for  her  mother's  sake,  who  was  always 
your  good  friend,  to  be  kind  to  Mr.  Arthur." 

The  old  dame  smiled  rather  proudly,  and  a  little 
color  mounted  to  her  withered  cheek. 

"My  lady  has  no  reason  to  fear!"  she  replied. 
"I  have  no  cause  of  quarrel  with  her.  I  would 
serve  her  with  all  my  heart,  were  it  only  for  the 
sake  of  that  gracious  and  godly  youth  Colonel 
Winthrop,  my  husband's  friend.  Neither  have  I 
aught  against  Master  Arthur,  seeing  he  was  but  a 
babe  in  arms  at  the  time  of  my  misfortunes ;  but 
were  my  Lord  Carew  himself  to  seek  shelter  with 
me  from  his  enemies,  he  should  be  welcome  to  all 
this  poor  hut  affords,  for  the  sake  not  of  old  times 
or  ties,  but  of  Him  who  purchased  forgiveness  for 
me  with  His  own  blood,  even  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ." 


A  NA11EOW  ESCAPE.  97 

A  rfclmr  Carew  reverently  bowed  his  head.  "  You 
are  indeed  a  true  Christian,  my  good  old  friend," 
said  he.  "  If  ever  I  come  to  my  own,  this  matter 
shall  be  righted  for  you,  even  if  it  costs  me  the 
half  of  my  inheritance." 

"  Ah !  my  dear  young  gentleman,"  cried  the  dame, 
kindly,  "  I  trust  and  pray  that  you  may  indeed  be 
brought  back  to  your  father's  house  in  peace,  but, 
my  dears,  long  before  that  time  I  shall  have  entered 
upon  a  far  greater  inheritance,  even  that  which  is 
incorruptible,  undented,  and  which  fadeth  not 
away.  But,  Master  Arthur,  when  you  do  come  to 
your  own,  as  something  tells  me  you  will,  remember 
me,  and  for  my  sake  meddle  not  with  the  con- 
sciences of  men.  If  they  are  wrong  in  their  belief, 
it  is  to  God  they  must  give  account ;  and  if  right, 
persecution  will  not  alter  them,  while  it  will  prove 
a  millstone  round  your  neck  and  those  of  your 
descendants.  The  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited 
upon  the  children!" 

"Yes,  methinks  I  have  reason  to  believe  that!" 
said  Arthur,  with  some  bitterness.  "My  father 
made  six  families  homeless  for  conscience'  sake, 
and  now  his  eldest  son  is  a  poor  lunatic,  and  the 
younger  a  homeless,  outlawed  wanderer;  while 
his  daughter — but  I  will  sav  nothing  of  her.  She 


98  WINIFRED. 

has  never  been  a  free  agent.  How  does  my  sister, 
Winifred?" 

"Winifred  did  not  answer  for  the  moment.  She 
was  looking  out  of  the  window,  from  which  she 
presently  turned,  with  a  face  ashy  pale,  but  with 
her  usual  quiet  manner. 

"I  fear  all  is  lost !"  said  she.  "  Sir  Edward  and 
Colonel  Kirke  are  coming  across  the  waste  with 
their  dogs  and  guns.  I  can  see  the  colonel's 
mustache !  What  shall  we  do  ?" 

"I  must  go !"  said  Arthur  Carew,  hastily  looking 
for  his  doublet,  which  he  had  thrown  aside  during 
the  process  of  his  cookery.  "I  will  not  be  found 
here  to  bring  ruin  upon  you  all.  Farewell,  dame ! 
Farewell,  Winifred,  and  may  God  bless  you  1" 

"Stay!"  said  Dame  Sprat,  raising  herself  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  authority.  "  You  go  to  cer- 
tain death !  Winifred,  how  near  are  they  ?" 

"  They  are  be  the  great  black  thorn  tree,"  said 
Winifred,  peeping  out.  "  They  seem  to  be  looking 
at  something  in  the  water." 

"  Aye,  the  snare  with  which  I  took  the  great  pike 
which  is  now  stewing  in  the  saucepan,"  said  Arthur. 
"I  doubt  the  fish  will  prove  a  dear  bargain." 

*'  There  is  yet  time,  and  the  delay  is  all  in  our 
favor!"  said  the  old  woman.  "Get  you  at  once 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  99 

into  the  shed,  Master  Arthur.  Climb  over  the 
fagots,  and  lie  down  behind  them,  close  to  the 
wall,  pulling  them  over  you.  Take  with  you  the 
clothes  and  the  wine  my  lady  sent,  lest  they  tell 
tales.  Now,  Winifred,  close  the  door.  Leave  the 
basket  where  it  is,  and  the  sansages  also.  Trust 
me  to  account  for  them  if  any  questions  are  asked. 
Now  that  you  have  made  all  tidy,  take  the  book, 
and  sit  down  as  if  reading  to  me.  It  may  be  that 
they  will  pass  on  without  calling,  but  should  they 
come  we  are  ready  for  them  Now,  my  child,  let 
us  look  to  the  Strong  for  strength." 

The  dame's  prayer  was  in  few  words,  but  it 
brought  back  the  courage  to  Winifred's  heart  and 
the  color  to  her  cheeks.  She  took  the  Bible  and 
sat  down  by  the  bedside,  from  which  she  could 
watch  the  approach  of  the  sportsmen.  They  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  toward  the 
door  of  the  hut,  which  they  entered  without  knock- 
ing. Dame  Sprat  slightly  raised  herself  in  bed. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  my  poor  house,  with  your 
friend,  Sir  Edward  Peckham !"  she  said,  with,  as 
Winifred  thought,  the  air  of  a  queen.  "Can  I 
do  aught  to  serve  you?  Winifred,  set  the  chair 
and  stool  for  the  gentlemen." 

"Do  not  disturb  yourself,  my  good  dame,"  said 


100  WINIFRED. 

Sir  Edward,  kindly  ;  for,  though  a  pompous  man 
in  general,  he  was  always  gracious  and  polite, 
especially  to  his  inferiors  in  rank.  "A  drink  of 
fair  water  is  all  we  require." 

"The  water  is  none  of  the  best,  but  such  as  it 
is  you  are  heartily  welcome,"  replied  Dame  Sprat 
"Winifred,  bring  a  jug  of  fresh  water,  and  mix 
with  it  some  of  the  ginger  cordial  you  brought 
me,  to  take  off  the  earthy  taste." 

"What!  My  little  puritan  again,  I  protest!" 
exclaimed  Colonel  Kirke.  "  What  brings  you  here, 
my  fairy  ?" 

"  I  came  to  see  and  wait  upon  Dame  Sprat,"  re- 
plied Winifred. 

"  And  you  seem  to  have  performed  your  office 
well !"  said  the  colonel.  "  Your  cooking  smells  very 
savory,"  he  continued,  lifting  the  cover  of  the 
saucepan  without  ceremony.  "Pray,  did  your 
mother  send  this  fine  fish  with  all  the  rest '?" 

"No,"  replied  the  dame.  "That  was  given  me 
by  a  stranger  who  had  been  fishing  in  the  stream 
aot  far  away.  I  have  more  than  once  received 
euch  treats  from  the  sportsmen  and  fowlers,  who 
now  and  then  call,  as  you  have  done,  for  a  drink 
of  water  or  some  directions  concerning  the  way. 


A  NARROW   ESCAPE.  101 

The  fish  is  at  your  service,  gentlemen,  if  you  please 
to  eat." 

"  No,  no,  dame,  I  will  not  rob  you  of  your  supper  ; 
but  you  are  lucky  in  having  such  a  neat  hand- 
maiden—  a  c  neat-handed  Phyllis,'  as  that  pesti- 
lent old  roundhead,  John  Milton,  says.  I  could 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  take  her  away  from  you. 
What  say  you,  my  fairy,  will  you  go  with  me  to 
London  to  see  the  king  and  dress  in  silks  and 
satins?" 

"No  !"  replied  Winifred,  as  she  poured  out  the 
water  ;  "  I  am  but  a  simple  country  maid,  and  I 
have  no  desire  to  be  anything  else." 

"  The  gentleman  is  but  jesting  with  you,  child !" 
said  Sir  Edward,  not  very  well  pleased  with  the 
soldier's  tone  toward  his  wife's  favorite,  since  any 
person  or  thing  in  the  remotest  degree  connected 
with  himself  became  saci  ed  in  his  eyes.  "  Colonel 
Kirke,  will  it  please  you  to  drink  ?" 

"Well,  here's  a  health  to  you  and  your  attendant 
sprite,  dame!"  said  the  colonel.  "  What  makes 
the  dog  so  uneasy  ?" 

One   of  Sir   Edward's  dogs  had  been  snuffing 

about  the  hut  ever  since  they  entered,   smelling 

here  and  theie,  and  whining  eagerly.     Winifred's 

heart  sank  fathoms  deep  as  she  saw  him  scratch- 

9* 


102  WINIFRED. 

ing  at  the  door  of  the  shed,  and  heard  the  soldier's 
question.  She  thought  all  was  indeed  lost,  but 
the  old  woman  answered  in  her  usual  quiet  tone  : 

"Doubtless  he  smells  the  cat,  which  hath  her 
kittens  among  the  fagots.  May  I  ask  you,  gentle- 
man, as  a  favor,  not  to  let  the  creature  be  disturbed  ? 
She  is  almost  my  only  companion,  and  even  the 
love  of  a  dumb  beast  is  some  solace,  as  I  sit  here 
alone  all  day." 

"Truly,  I  should  think  so!"  said  Kirke. 
"Have  no  fear,  dame!  Your  cat  shall  not  be 
troubled,  though  I  think  a  dog  would  be  the 
better  companion." 

The  dame  smiled.  "A  dog  could  not  provide 
for  himself  as  my  poor  Tabby  does,  and  in  poverty 
such  as  mine,  even  the  food  of  a  dog  is  of  conse- 
quence." 

"  Where  have  I  seen  you  before,  dame  ?"  asked 
the  soldier,  abruptly.  "  Your  face,  voice,  and  man- 
ner are  all  familiar  to  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  recall 
the  time  or  place  where  I  have  known  you." 

"  Yes,  you  have  been  under  my  roof  and  eaten 
at  my  table  in  other  days,"  replied  Dame  Sprat 
"  When  you  were  a  young  lad,  staying  with  your 
mother's  brother  in  Devonshire,  you  and  your  young 
cousins  used  often  to  come  to  my  house  to  eat 


A   NARROW    ESCAIE.  103 

junkets  and  raspberries  with  clotted  cream.  I  well 
remember  the  fall  from  the  great  pear-tree,  by 
which  you  got  that  scar  on  your  cheek,  and  your 
encounter  with  my  husband's  long-horned  bull." 

"Aye,  when  you  came  in  with  your  broom- 
stick, and  drove  the  inimal  away.  Truly  I  had 
the  worst  of  that  encounter,  and  but  for  your 
timely  help  had  hardly  been  here  to  tell  the  tale. 
But  why  did  you  not  make  yourself  known  to  me, 
dame,  since  you  remembered  me  so  well  ?" 

"I  am  but  a  poor  woman  now,  living  upon 
charity,  and  you  are  a  great  gentleman !"  said  the 
dame,  with  a  touch  of  the  gentle  pride  she  some- 
times showed.  "  Things  are  greatly  changed  since 
I  was  at  the  head  of  my  own  house  and  you  were 
a  young  boy,  not  much  above  my  own  rank." 

The  fierce  soldier  of  fortune  sighed.  "Yes, 
dame,  they  are  indeed,  and  not  for  the  better,  per- 
haps, with  either  of  us.  However,  it  is  a  world  of 
changes,  and  we  must  even  take  it  as  it  corneso 
But  tell  me,  dame,  have  you  seen  any  cf  the  escaped 
rebels  lurking  here  in  the  waste  ?  It  seems  a  likely 
place  enough  to  afford  them  shelter.  Sir  Edward, 
suppose  we  bring  out  the  blood-hound,  and  see 
what  he  can  find  for  us  ?  It  would  afford  us  good 


104  WINIFRED. 

sport— better  than  tramping  through  the  moss 
after  wild  ducks." 

"  You  are  indeed  changed  from  the  innocent  am) 
kind-hearted  lad  I  once  knew  you,  since  you  can 
talk  so  lightly  of  hunting  your  fellow-creatures  with 
hounds,  like  beasts  of  the  chase  !"  said  Dame  Sprat, 
sadly  and  severely.  "  Surely  enough  of  blood  hath 
already  been  shed  in  this  unhappy  cause.  Remem- 
ber, Colonel  Kirke,  that  though  man  and  the  world 
change,  there  is  One  who  changeth  not — One  who 
has  solemnly  and  sternly  declared  that  'Whoso 
sheddeth  man's  blood,  by  man  shall  his  blood  be 
shed !'  and  that  '  "With  what  measure  ye  mete,  it 
shall  be  measured  to  you  again.*  To  Him  you 
must  one  day  render  a  strict  account,  and  neither 
rank  nor  riches,  nor  the  favor  of  kings,  will  weigh 
one  atom  with  Him,  to  whom  even  kings  them- 
selves must  answer  for  the  deeds  done  in  the 
body  I" 

"  *  When  He  maketh  inquisition  for  blood,  He 
lemembereth  the  poor ! '  "  said  Winifred,  in  a  low 
roice,  and  speaking  more  to  herself  than  to  any 
one  else. 

"  What,  you  too,  my  fairy  ?  Nay,  then  I  must 
indeed  stand  reproved  !  Sir  Edward,  do  you  allow 
female  preachers  upon  your  lands?  Methinka 


A   NARROW   ESCAPE.  105 

the  ricar  should  resent  such  an  encroachment  upon 
his  office." 

"  We  allow  old  women  to  say  what  they  please, 
so  long  as  they  do  not  forget  the  respect  due  to 
their  betters.  Winifred,  you  are  too  forward  with 
your  words!  Your  lady  would  be  much  dis- 
pleased." 

"  Oh  she  did  but  discharge  her  conscience  or  her 
mind,  which  comes  to  much  the  same  thing,"  said 
Kirke,  laughing.  "  It  would  be  hard  indeed  to  re- 
fuse women  the  use  of  their  tongues,  since  they 
have  no  other  weapons.  And  so,  my  fair  Saint 
Winifred,  you  will  not  come  to  London  with  me, 
for  all  the  fine  things?" 

"No,  sir!"  replied  Winifred.  "London  is  no 
place  for  such  as  I  am.  Amy  Crofoot  went  t(? 
London,  and  I  have  heard  she  came  to  no  good." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  wise  maid,  and  I  will  tease  you 
no  more.  But  tell  me,  child,  why  are  you  so  afraid 
of  me  ?  You  trembled  and  changed  color  when  I 
spoke  to  you  first  in  the  park,  as  though  you  ex- 
pected no  less  than  to  be  ordered  to  execution,  and 
I  think  you  are  little  better  now.  Why  should  you 
fear  me?" 

"  Because  I  have  heard  such  tales  of  yon,':  re- 
plied Winifred,  modestly  but  firmly.  "  I  mean  no 


106  WINIFRED. 

offence,"  she  added,  seeing  his  brow  darken  ;  "  but 
since  you  are  pleased  to  ask  me  I  must  needs  speak 
the  truth." 

"You  shoull  have  known,  Winifred,  that  even 
were  he  so  inclined,  Colonel  Kirke  would  never 
have  dreamed  of  offering  injury  to  any  member  of 
my  family,"  said  Sir  Edward,  with  more  than  usual 
stateliness  ;  "  and  such  I  may  well  call  you,  since  my 
lady  is  pleased  to  distinguish  you  by  her  favor, 
though  you  do  not  at  present  dwell  under  my  roof." 

"Winifred  made  her  lowest  reverence,  in  acknow- 
ledgment of  Sir  Edward's  words.  "  I  thank  you 
humbly,  Sir  Edward,"  said  she.  "  I  do  not  fear 
Colonel  Kirke  so  much  now,  for  I  see  he  can  be 
kind  when  it  pleases  him." 

"  Aye,  and  how  do  you  know  that,  sweetheart  ?" 
said  Kirke. 

"  Because  you  would  not  let  the  dog  hunt  and 
worry  Dame  Sprat's  cat,  and  because  you  do  not 
seem  angry  at  her  plain  speaking,"  replied  Wini  • 


The  soldier's  brow  smoothed  itself,  and  a  smile 
stole  over  his  face,  which  seemed  for  the  moment 
to  make  another  man  of  him. 

"  It  is  but  a  small  matter  to  change  your  mind 
upon,"  said  he.  "  I  should  indeed  be  a  brute  to 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  107 

make  such  a  return  to  an  old  friend  for  her  hos- 
pitality. But,  Winifred,  do  you  not  know  that 
these  people  of  whom  you  have  heard  were  the 
king's  enemies,  and  deserved  to  be  punished  ?" 

"  I  know  that  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  was  the 
king's  enemy,  and  that  the  people  were  wrong  in 
following  him,"  replied  "Winifred  ;  "but  I  think, 
with  all  submission,  that  the  way  for  the  king  to 
turn  them  into  his  friends  would  be  to  treat  them 
fcindly,  and  show  mercy  toward  them." 

"You  are  but  a  child,  and  do  not  understand 
these  matters,"  said  Colonel  Kirke. 

"  I  know  that,  and  therefore  I  would  rather  be 
excused  from  speaking  of  them." 

"  Colonel  Kirke,  it  is  full  time  we  were  going,  if 
you  mean  to  be  at  home  by  midnight,"  said  Sir 
Edward,  impatiently.  "  Your  supper  will  be  spoiled 
by  waiting,  and  my  lady  will  be  uneasy  at  our 
delay." 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  said  Colonel  Kirke,  ris- 
ing. "Farewell,  dame,  and  thank  you  for  your 
courtesy.  I  will  leave  you  a  brace  of  wild  ducks 
for  your  fair  cookmaid  to  exercise  her  skill  upon, 
and  here  is  a  broad  piece  or  two  to  repay  your 
hospitality,  and  for  the  sake  of  old  times.  Nay,  I 
pray  you  refuse  not  my  gift.  It  will  be  at  least 


108  WINIFRED. 

one  item  to  my  credit  in  the  account  you  spoL* 
of." 

"  I  need  no  payment,  and  you  are  heartily  ivel 
come  to  all  you  have  had,"  replied  Dame  Sprat 
"  But  I  will  not  refuse  your  gift,  which  is  pleasing 
to  me  as  a  token  of  kindness  for  an  old  acquain- 
tance, and  will  furnish  me  with  many  needed 
comforts.  I  am  often  in  want,  and  indeed  should 
starve  but  for  the  kindness  of  Dame  Evans  and 
her  daughter.  Sir  Edward,  present  my  humble 
duty  to  your  excellent  lady.  Farewell,  gentlemen, 
both — may  God  bless  you !" 

"That  is  a  stately  old  dame!"  said  Kirke,  after 
they  had  left  the  cottage,  followed  by  the  dogs, 
one  of  which,  however,  showed  no  disposition  to 
go.  "  With  what  an  air  she  delivered  her  blessing, 
as  she  bade  us  farewell !  Methinks  an  archbishop 
could  hardly  have  done  it  better.  She  was  well  to 
pass  in  the  world  when  I  knew  her  in  Devonshire. 
How  has  she  become  so  poor?  Her  husband  was 
accounted  a  rich  man,  and  one  that  knew  how  to 
keep  what  he  had." 

"  He  was  a  chaplain  in  Cromwell's  army,"  replied 
Sir  Edward,  "  and  Lord  Carew,  upon  whose  land 
they  lived,  turned  the  family  adrift  after  the  old 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  109 

man's  death.  She  would  hardly  have  found  a 
harbor  upon  my  estate,  but  this  hut  and  the  small 
bit  of  arable  land  on  which  it  stands  belong  to 
Master  Evans,  one  of  our  substantial  yeomen,  and 
a  loyal  man  both  to  church  and  state.  Indeed, 
one  can  hardly  grudge  the  poor  old,  creature  her 
miserable  shelter,  though  I  dare  swear  she  is  as 
rank  a  puritan  and  republican  at  heart  as  ever  her 
husband  was.  She  is,  as  you  see,  somewhat  of  a 
preacher  herself,  but  otherwise  harmless  enough.77 

"It  would  be  hardly  .fair  to  complain  of  her 
preaching,  since  she  gave  us  of  the  best  she  had  at 
the  same  time.  It  is  amazing,  however,  the  con- 
stancy these  roundheads  show.  I  make  no  doubt 
this  infirm  old  creature  would  go  to  the  stake  with 
the  same  dignified  composure  with  which  she  wel- 
comed us  to  her  fireside,  and  sing  psalms  till  the 
smoke  stopped  her  breath.  I  am  glad  I  was  able 
to  afford  her  some  help,  for  she  was  kind  to  me 
when  I  had  but  few  friends,  and  I  believe  saved 
my  life  in  that  same  battle  with  the  long-horned 
bull.  There,  your  dog  is  uneasy  again  ! " 

"  Yes,  he  cannot  give  up  the  old  woman's  cat ! 
7Tis  a  dog  which  once  belonged  to  my  wife's  young 
brother,  who  died  abroad,  and  he  hath  never  been 
10 


110 


WINIFRED. 


properly  broken  in.     Come  to  heel,  sirrah,   or  I 
shall  find  means  to  teach  you  I" 

The  dog  obeyed,  but  unwillingly,  and   the  two 
sportsmen  hastened  on  their  way. 


CHAPTER   VN. 


FURTHER     CONSULTATIONS. 

WINNIE  stood  at  the  cottage  door  and  watched 
the  retreating  figures  of  the  sportsmen  as 
long  as  she  could  see  them.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  no  one  was  ever  so  long  in  walking  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  but  at  last  they  reached  the  bend  of  the 
valley  down  which  the  little  brook  took  its  course, 
and  were  out  of  view,  Carlo  pausing  and  taking 
another  look  at  the  hut,  as  though  his  mind  were 
not  yet  quite  at  rest  about  that  cat.  When  she 
could  no  longer  see  the  least  glimpse,  Winifred  re- 
turned to  the  bedside,  and,  throwing  herself  down 
with  her  face  hidden  in  the  bedclothes,  she  burst 
into  tears,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

"  Why,  my  maid,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  the 
old  woman.     "The  danger  is  over  for  this  time, 


112  WINIFRED. 

and  Master  Arthur  is  safe.  They  will  not  coine 
back  again  to-night." 

"I  know  it,"  sobbed  Winifred.  "I  know  I  am 
silly,  but  I  cannot  help  crying.  It  was  so  dread- 
ful !  And  the  dog  smelling  at  the  door,  and  all ! 
I  thought  two  or  three  times  it  was  all  over  with 
us!" 

"And  so  did  I !"  replied  Dame  Sprat.  "I  heart- 
ily wished  the  cat  at  Bristol,  or  further  off,  fond  as 
I  am  of  the  poor  creature." 

"  Then  you  think  it  was  really  the  cat,  and  not 
Master  Arthur,  the  dog  was  after  ?"  said  Winifred, 
composing  herself  by  degrees. 

"  I  think  so,  but  of  course  I  cannot  tell,"  replied 
the  dame.  "  At  all  events,  the  cat  was  there,  and 
right  glad  am  I  that  the  gentlemen  would  not  allow 
her  to  be  molested." 

"  Does  it  not  seem  strange,"  said  Winifred,  "  that 
a  man  like  Colonel  Kirke,  who  laughed  at  the 
prayers  of  mothers  for  their  children,  and  made 
hideous  jests  upon  the  poor  dying  creatures  in 
their  agonies — he  who  made  a  poor  lad  run  a  race 
with  a  colt  to  save  his  life,  and  hanged  him  after 
all — should  have  been  willing  to  spare  the  poor 
cat  because  you  asked  him,  and  should  have  taken 
your  plain-speaking  so  kindly  ?" 


FURTHER  CONSULTATIONS.  113 

"  He  was  in  cool  blood,  and  I  suppose  his  heart 
might  be  softened  by  old  recollections.  There  are 
few  men,  however  hardened  in  crime,  but  have 
some  good  left  about  them,  if  one  can  only  find  it." 

"  I  wonder  if  there  is  any  good  left  about  Judge 
Jeffreys  ?"  said  Winifred. 

"  Possibly  there  may  be,  but  I  should  expect  it 
eobner  in  Kirke  than  in  him.  Kirke  is  a  soldier 
of  fortune,  bred  up  in  the  midst  of  war  and  car- 
nage, and  has  lived  many  years  in  Tangier  among 
the  heathen,  where  he  has  probably  not  had  one 
good  or  softening  influence  near  him.  The  conse- 
quence is  that  he  is  a  savage,  and  almost  a  wild 
beast.  But  so  far  as  I  know,  he  has  not  deliberately 
sold  himself  to  the  devil  for  gold  and  gain,  as  it  seems 
Jeffreys  has  done,  and  as  did  the  Duke  of  Lauder- 
dale  in  Scotland,  who,  himself  a  Presbyterian,  lent 
himself  to  persecute  the  suffering  people  of  that 
name.  But  I  cannot  but  be  sorry  for  Kirke.  It 
is  sad  to  me  to  see  one  whom  I  remember  well  as 
a  pleasant,  kind-hearted  little  lad,  transformed  into 
such  a  ruffian.  We  live  in  evil  times,  my  child,  but 
I  trust  they  will  soon  pass  away.  Something  tells 
me  that  better  days  are  at  hand  for  this  poor  coun- 
try 1" 

"  Yes,  if  the  good  Princess  of  Orange  should 
10* 


114  W/NIFBED. 

come  to  be  queeii  ;  but  then  the  king  may  live 
a  long  time,  and  perhaps  have  children." 

"  Well,  we  will  not  speculate  upon  the  matter, 
child.  There  is  One  who  is  King  over  all.  and  whu 
can  bring  good  out  of  the  darkest  evil.  I  think 
we  are  in  no  further  danger  of  visitors  this  night, 
so  you  may  venture  to  call  Master  Arthur,  and  re- 
ceive his  messages  for  his  sister." 

Winifred  opened  the  door,  and  called,  "Master 
Arthur,  they  are  gone,  and  the  dame  thinks  you 
are  safe.  Will  you  please  come  out,  and  tell  me 
what  I  am  to  say  to  my  lady  ?" 

"  So  they  are  gone  at  last!"  said  Arthur,  creeping 
out  of  his  hole,  and  stretching  his  long  limbs  vig- 
orously. "It  is  a  fine  time,  truly,  when  I  am 
driven  to  hide,  like  a  rat  in  a  hole,  from  my  own 
sister's  husband." 

"  You  ought  to  be  thankful  that  you  had  the 
hole  to  hide  in,  and  that  you  were  safe  even 
there !"  said  Winifred,  rather  severely,  for  she  waa 
scandalized  by  the  lightness  of  his  tone.  "  I  am 
sure  I  gave  all  up  for  lost  when  the  dog  scratched 
at  the  door." 

"And  so  I  am  thankful,  my  wise  little  monitor, 
not  only  for  the  hole,  but  still  more  to  you  and  my 
good  old  friend  here,  for  the  steady  courage  you 


FURTHER   CONST) STATIONS  115 

showed  under  such  a  severe  trial.  I  heard  every 
word  as  I  lay  close  to  the  wall,  and  knew  how  near 
my  poor  old  Carlo  was  to  betraying  me.  The 
dumb  beast  has  a  longer  memory  for  his  friends 
than  many  who  call  themselves  his  superiors.  I  am 
thankful,  too,  to  Mistress  Puss  and  her  family  for 
taking  my  peril  upon  herself.  I  think  I  shall 
always  stand  up  for  the  whole  race  of  cats  from 
this  day,  and,  by  tLe  way,  they  shall  have  a  share 
of  the  fish,  which  I  fear  is  sadly  spoiled  by  waiting 
so  long." 

Winifred  sighed.  This  jesting  tone  seemed  to 
her  sadly  out  of  place  in  one  who  had  just  had 
such  a  narrow  escape  from  captivity  and  death. 
Dame  Sprat  heard  the  sigh,  and  said  kindly  : 

"  You  must  remember,  Winifred,  that  Master 
Arthur  is  a  soldier,  and  used  to  dangers  and  nar- 
row escapes.  We  cannot  expect  him  to  look  upon 
such  things  as  we  do.  I  doubt  not  he  does  in  his 
heart  give  earnest  thanks  to  his  Heavenly  Father 
for  this  deliverance." 

"Indeed  I  do,  dame!"  said  Arthur,  more 
gravely.  "I  am,  as  you  say,  a  soldier,  besides 
being  an  outlaw  and  an  exile,  and  one  becomes 
used  to  danger  as  to  other  things,  such  as  cold, 
hunger,  and  home-sickness.  Nevertheless,  I  do, 


116  WINIFRED. 

as  you  well  say,  give  earnest  thanks  to  God  for  Hia 
mercies,  and  not  least  for  raising  me  up  such  kind 
friends  at  iny.  utmost  need  ;  and  I  trust,  if  He 
delivers  me  from  this  present  peril,  to  serve  Him 
more  faithfully  than  I  have  ever  done  before." 

"It  is  well  spoken,  and  may  He  who  giveth 
grace  send  you  strength  according  to  your  need !" 
said  Dame  Sprat.  "  But,  Winifred,  it  is  time  you 
were  on  your  way  home.  Your  good  mother  will 
be  uneasy  at  your  delay." 

"  If  Mr.  Carew  will  give  me  the  message  for  my 
lady,"  said  Winifred. 

"  Oh,  aye  !  Tell  my  good  sister  to  run  no  risk 
upon  my  account,  and  to  make  no  move  till  Sir 
Edward  has  gone  up  to  London.  After  that,  if 
she  can  in  some  way  furnish  me  with  a  horse,  a 
small  quantity  of  ready  money,  and  a  suit  of 
clothes,  I  can  easily  find  friends,  who  will  aid  me 
to  escape  from  some  of  the  western  ports.  I  would 
gladly  see  Margaret  if  it  could  be  managed,  lut  I 
would  not  risk  bringing  her  into  trouble  or 
danger." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  her  own  trouble  or  danger 
which  my  lady  fears,"  said  Winifred  ;  "  and  I  am 
Bure  she  has  no  lack  of  affection  for  you." 

"  I  know,  I  know  1"  interrupted  Arthur.     "  My 


FURTHER  CONSULTATIONS.  117 

sister  cannot  do  as  she  would,  and  I  like  you  the 
better  for  being  so  ready  to  defend  her.  But  you 
will  come  again  before  long,  Winifred  ?" 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Winifred, 
smiling.  "  You  have  abundance  of  provisions  till 
that  time,  so  you  will  not  miss  me." 

"  It  is  not  the  provisions  I  am  thinking  of,  but 
yourself,  my  saucy  little  maid,  as  you  well  know," 
said  Arthur,  smiling  in  his  turn.  "  Your  face  is  a 
medicine  for  home-sickness." 

"  Now  I  will  not  have  the  child's  head  turned 
with  your  courtier's  compliments,  Master  Arthur," 
interposed  Dame  Sprat.  "  Thank  your  mother  for 
her  gifts,  Winifred,  and  also  good  Mrs.  Alwright. 
Stay,  my  child,  one  word  more  !  If  you  go  to  the 
Hall  again  while  he  is  there,  I  would  have  you 
endeavor  carefully  to  avoid  Colonel  Kirke.  He  is 
a  bold,  bad  man,  and  not  one  to  do  you  any  good  ; 
nor  do  I  think  him  likely  to  pay  much  respect  .,0 
Sir  Edward's  family.  Keep  you  close  to  my  lady 
or  Mrs.  Alwright.  and  do  not  by  any  means  stray 
in  the  park  or  gardens  by  yourself.  You  may  not 
understand  me,  nor  is  it  needful  you  should,  but  I 
have  reasons  for  what  I  say.  Now  once  more 
good-night,  and  may  the  Lord  bless  thee  1". 

"  That  is  a  marvellous  little  maid!"  said  Arthur, 


118  WINIFIIED. 

after  Winifred  had  departed.  "  It  is  no  Bonder 
that  my  sister  loves  her." 

"  She  is  indeed  a  wonderfully  graciou*  child !" 
replied  Dame  Sprat.  "  She  comes  of  a  good 
family,  and  hath  been  well  taught  botli  by  her 
mother  and  by  my  lady,  who  keeps  her  much  in 
her  company.  I  cannot  but  think,  however,  that 
she  owes  much  of  her  peculiar  goodness  and  purity 
to  a  higher  teacher  than  either.  She  is  truly  a 
child  of  grace  and  led  by  the  Spirit  of  God.  He 
would  be  a  wretch  indeed  who  should  sully  so 
pure  a  flower,  yet  I  sometimes  fear  lest  her  great 
beauty  should  lead  her  into  danger.  I  would 
Colonel  Kirke  had  never  set  his  evil  eyes  upon  her 
face." 

"  He  would  indeed  be  a  wretch  who  could  harm 
her,"  said  Arthur  ;  "  but  Kirke  has  done  even  worse 
things,  unless  he  is  greatly  belied.  The  protection 
of  the  queen  herself  would  be  no  shield  to  one  on 
whom  he  fixed  his  fancy." 

"I  dare  say  not,"  returned  the  dame,  dryly. 
"  Royal  protection  hath  not  been  particularly  favor- 
able to  virtue  in  these  latter  days." 

"  Truly  not !  But  you  say  Winifred  is  of  good 
family  ?  I  thought  she  belonged  to  some  of  the 
fanners  hereabout." 


FURTHER   CONSULTATIONS.  119 

"  Her  father  is  a  sailor,  the  younger  son  of  old 
Master  Evans  of  the  Stonehill  farm,  than  whom  no 
one  is  more  respected  in  these  parts.  Her  mother 
belongs  to  an  ancient  but  somewhat  decayed  Dev- 
onshire family,  of  whom  I  dare  say  you  know 
Boinething — the  Coffins  of  North  Devon.  She  is, 
not  distantly,  related  to  your  sister's  first  husband, 
Colonel  Winthrop.  I  do  not  know  whether  my 
lady  is  aware  of  it,  but  indeed  I  think  she  must  be, 
for  this  child  is  wonderfully  like  him,  both  in  face 
and  manner.  He  was  a  gracious  youth,  and  one 
who,  my  husband  used  to  say,  had  more  of  the 
root  of  the  matter  in  him  than  many  of  those  who 
made  more  words  about  it.  I  suppose  you  do  not 
remember  your  brother  Winthrop,  Master  Arthur?" 

"  Hardly,  dame,  since  he  died  the  very  year  that 
I  was  born,"  replied  Arthur  ;  "  but  I  have  seen  his 
portrait  in  my  sister's  cabinet,  when  I  was  a  child. 
It  had  always  a  great  charm  for  me — partly,  I  sup- 
pose, because  I  fancied  some  mystery  attached  to 
t.  Do  you  know  Winifred's  age  ?" 

"She  is  fifteen,  though  she  looks  so  much 
younger  that  she  might  easily  pass  for  eleven.  I 
trust,  Master  Arthur,  I  have  no  need  to  remind 
you  " 

"  I  understand  you,  dame,"  said  Arthur,  coloring 


120  WINIFRED. 

high,  as  Dame  Sprat  paused,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  his  face.  "I  cannot  blame  you  for  the 
thought,  considering  what  are  the  manners  of  the 
time,  but  believe  me  you  do  me  great  wrong.  I 
have  done  many  things  in  my  life-time  which  had 
been  better  left  undone,  but  I  should  be  a  fiend 
indeed  if  I  were  capable  of  doing  aught  that  should 
injure  yon  fair  child.  I  am  right  glad  my  sister  has 
taken  such  a  fancy  to  her  for  both  their  sakes,  since 
"Winifred  could  not  have  a  kinder  or  more  judicious 
friend,  and  I  sometimes  fear  my  poor  Margaret 
hath  but  a  dull  life  of  it.  But  our  supper  is  ready, 
and  a  savory  one  it  is,  thanks  to  good  old  Alwright 
I  am  in  a  hurry  to  see  if  her  sausages  are  as  good 
as  ever.  Here,  Mistress  Puss,  come  and  have  your 
Bhare." 

Winifred  found  Jack  in  a  very  doleful  mood. 

"  What  made  you  stay  so  long  ?"  he  murmured. 
'  I  think  it  is  too  bad  in  you  to  leave  me  for  that 
old  woman !" 

"  I  have  only  been  away  three  hours,  Jack,"  re- 
plied Winifred.  "The  poor  old  dame  is  down 
with  rheumatism,  and  has  no  one  to  aitend  upon 
her,  while  you  have  all  the  house  to  wait  upou 
you." 


FURTHER  CONSULTATIONS.  121 

"  It  is  all  the  fault  of  that  old  magpie.  Grand- 
father ought  to  have  had  the  tree  cut  down !" 

"  It  was  not  the  tree's  fault,  nor  the  poor  mag- 
pie's either,"  remarked  Priscy,  who  had  just  come 
in.  "I  am  sure  the  poor  bird  never  asked  you  to 
rob  her  nest.  You  should  have  minded  the  master 
and  left  the  tree  alone,  and  then  you  might  have 
been  helping  to  gather  the  apples  this  day,  instead 
of  lying  here  groaning  and  making  ever  so  much 
trouble." 

"Well,  never  mind,  Priscy!"  said  Winifred, 
gently.  "Jack  will  be  wiser  another  time.  See 
here,  Jack,  what  fine  apples  I  picked  up  as  I  caine 
through  the  orchard.  I  will  ask  mother  to  let  me 
roast  one  for  you,  and  when  I  go  up  to  the  Hall 
to-morrow  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Alwright  to  send  you 
something  nice.  I  am  sure  she  will,  for  she  said 
she  was  very  sorry  for  you.  Come  now,  don't  cry 
any  more,  and  I  will  read  you  a  story  out  of  my 
new  book." 

Winnie's  gentleness  and  kindness  finally  soothed 
poor  Jack  and  got  him  to  sleep  ;  and  Winnie  then 
deli  vered  a  small  lecture  to  Priscilla. 

"You  should  not  tease  poor  Jack,  now  that  he 
is  ill  and  helpless.  It  only  makes  him  fret,  and  I 
am  sure  it  does  him  no  good.  You  are  not  always 
11 


122  W1NIFKED. 

careful  yourself  any  more  than  Jack.  Do  you  re- 
member liow  you  would  go  to  Bridgewater  fair,  in 
the  rain,  despite  all  my  mother  and  grandfather 
could  say  ?  You  would  not  have  thought  it  very 
kind,  when  you  were  sick  with  your  cold  and  ague 
afterwards,  if  my  mother  had  all  the  time  re- 
proached you  with  the  trouble  you  gave,  though 
your  illness  was  far  more  inconvenient  than  Jack's, 
coming  as  it  did  in  the  midst  of  sheep-shearing.' 

"And  that  is  true  indeed,  Mrs.  Winifred!"  said 
Priscilla,  a  little  conscience-stricken.  "The  dear 
mistress — she  never  gave  me  a  word  all  the  time, 
and  nursed  me  as  I  had  been  her  own  sister.  But 
then,  dear  me,  I  never  expect  to  be  as  good  as  you 
and  the  mistress." 

"  I  don't  see  why  not,  Priscy.  I  don't  see  any 
reason  why  you  should  not  be  as  good  as  the  best 
saint  that  ever  lived !" 

"  No,  I  dare  say  you  don't,  because  you  judge 
other  folks  by  yourself ;  but,  Mrs.  Winnie,  my 
dear,  I  will  not  tease  poor  Jack  any  more.  I  will 
go  to  the  mistress  this  minute,  and  ask  her  if  I 
may  not  make  the  poor  lad  a  nice  custard  against 
he  wakes.  I  am  sure  a  custard  cannot  hurt  him." 

Permission  was  given,  and  Jack  and  Priscilla 
were  soon  good  Mends  over  the  custard.  When 


FURTHER   CONSULTATIONS.  123 

every  one  else  hud  gone  to  bed,  Winifred  related 
to  her  mother  the  adventure  of  the  afternoon. 
Dame  Magdalen  shuddered  at  thought  of  the  peril. 

"  It  was  indeetl  a  wonderful  escape,  and  you  are 
a  wonderful  child,"  said  she.  "I  fear  I  could 
never  have  kept  myself  quiet  as  you  did." 

"  I  do  not  think  we  any  of  us  know  what  we 
can  do  till  we  try,"  said  Winifred.  "  When  I  look 
back  over  this  week,  and  think  of  all  that  has  hap- 
pened, it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  hardly  the  same 
person  I  was  last  Sunday — I  feel  so  much  older 
I  wonder  what  the  reason  is  ?" 

"  'Tis  the  care,  child !  Care  and  trouble  make 
young  folks  old,  and  you  have  heretofore  known 
little  of  either.  My  poor  grandmother's  hair  turned 
gra}  all  in  a  single  week  while  her  mother  was  in 
prison,  and  she  was  a  young  woman  not  thirty 
years  old.  Those  were  fearful  times,  and  who  knows 
but  we  may  have  the  same  back  again,  since  the 
king  is  a  papist,  and  by  all  account  as  hard-hearted 
and  as  much  led  by  the  Jesuits  as  Queen  Marj 
herself!" 

"Do  you  think  all  papists  are  hard-hearted, 
mother?"  asked  Winifred.  "I  have  heard  Prig- 
cilia  say  that  the  Lady  Strafford,  with  whom  her 
mother  lived,  was  a  kind,  good  lady." 


124  WINIFRED. 

"No  doubt  there  are  good  and  bad  among  them, 
RS  among  others.  The  king  has  had  provocation, 
too,  that  cannot  be  denied,  both  of  late,  and  in  the 
old  times  of  the  Popish  Plot.  Nevertheless,  that 
does  not  excuse  what  has  been  done  in  his  name 
in  this  and  other  places.  Well,  Winifred,  you 
have  become  entangled  in  this  matter  by  no  fault 
of  yours,  and  I  do  not  see  but  you  must  carry  it 
through.  It  seems  hard,  or  at  least  strange,  that 
you  should  have  been  allowed  to  fall  into  such 
trouble  and  danger,  only  for  doing  your  duty  and 
aiding  the  distressed. 

"I  think  it  often  happens  so,"  said  Winifred. 
"  The  apostles  were  all  put  to  death  for  teaching 
people  the  way  of  salvation,  and  you  know,  mother," 
she  added,  with  reverence,  "our  Lord  Himself  laid 
down  His  life  for  us,  and  we  ought  to  lay  down 
our  lives  for  the  brethren." 

"  True,  my  daughter !  That  is  the  real  spirit  ol 
Christ.  I  trust,  however,  that  you  may  not  be 
called  to  any  such  sacrifice.  Now,  to  bed  and  to 
sleep,  my  child,  and  do  not  dream  of  the  dangers 
jou  have  passed." 


fER    V   II. 


1  £E    I>iSGUIS  E. 

niHE  next  day  Winifred  went  up  to  the  Hall,  as 
JL  usual,  promising  Jack  to  bring  him  something 
good,  and  not  to  remain  away  longer  than  she 
co  aid  help.  As  she  entered  the  court- yard  she 
savv  several  horses  standing  before  the  door,  and  it 
was  with  no  little  satisfaction  that  she  learned  from 
one  nf.  the  servants  the  news  that  Sir  Edward  was 
going  up  to  London  that  very  day,  along  with  Colo- 
nel Kirke,  who  had  been  sent  for  by  the  king.  She 
was  conscious  of  a  great  lightening  of  her  heart  as 
she  slapped  along  the  passages  to  Mrs.  Alwright's 
room,  and  then  watched  from  the  window  the  two 
gentlemen  Tuount  their  horses  and  ride  away,  fed- 
lowed  by  t)ieir  servants  and  baggage-horses.  Pres- 
ently Mrs.  Mwright  entered,  considerably  heated 
and  fliwrifXi.  • 

11* 


126  WINIFRED. 

"  You  dear  child,  are  you  here  already  ?"  she  ex- 
cl:iimed,  kissing  Winifred  on  both  cheeks,  and  then 
dropping  into  her  chair.  "  Dear  heart,  I  am  run 
off  ray  feet !  I  don't  think  I  have  sat  down  to-day, 
and  I  was  up  all  night,  getting  things  ready  for 
Sir  Edward's  journey  ;  and  glad  I  am  that  they  are 
gone!  Only  to  think  that  Sir  Edward  and  that 
colonel  should  actually  have  been  in  Dame  Sprat's 
cottage  while  you  were  there,  and  they  never  sus- 
pected anything  either.  I  promise  you  my  lady 
turned  as  white  as  a  sheet  when  they  spoke  of  it 
at  supper.  I  could  see  her  face  in  the  great  Venice 
glass  as  I  stood  behind  her  chair.  My  heart  went 
thump,  thump — it  seemed  as  if  every  one  in  the 
room  might  have  heard  it.  I  was  afraid  my  dear 
lady  would  betray  herself  by  fainting  or  some  such 
thing,  but  I  need  not  have  been  alarmed.  She  just 
drank  a  glass  of  water,  and  then  said,  as  quietly  as 
possible,  '  The  dame  must  be  growing  very  old  and 
infirm.  By  your  permission,  Sir  Edward,  I  would 
gladly  make  her  more  comfortable  by  sending  her 
a  load  of  fuel  and  other  provisions  before  winter, 
I  knew  her  well  when  I  was  a  young  girl  at  home. 
Then  Sir  Edward  hesitated  and  said  something 
about  her  husband's  having  been  a  sturdy  rebel, 
and  herself  a  Puritan  ;  upon  which  Colonel  Kirke 


THE  DISGUISE.  127 

spoke  up  and  said,  with  his  great,  coarse  laugh, 
that  a  good  many  folks  were  rebels  in  Cromwell's 
time  who  were  king's  men  now  ;  which  touched  Sir 
Edward,  as  I  suppose  he  meant  it  should,  my  dear. 
Then  he  went  on  to  say  that  he  would  take  it  kind 
of  niy  lady  if  she  would  befriend  Dame  Sprat,  see- 
ing the  good  woman  had  been  kind  to  him  in 
former  days.  So  then  Sir  Edward  could  do  no  less 
after  that  than  to  tell  my  lady  to  do  what  she 
pleased  ;  and  when  my  lady  said  she  would  ride  over 
some  day  to  the  cottage,  and  see  what  the  old  woman 
most  needed,  he  said  that  would  be  a  good  plan,  if 
the  ride  were  not  too  long  or  too  rough  for  her  ; 
which  I  believe  it  was  for  nothing  else  but  to  please 
Colonel  Kirke,  my  dear.  No,  I  won't  say  that 
either,  for  Sir  Edward  is  a  kind  man  to  the  poor — 
I  will  say  that  for  him  !" 

"  I  think  he  is,"  said  Winifred. 

"  But  now  tell  me  all  about  it,  for  I  am  dying  to 
know,"  said  Mrs.  Alwright,  "  and  1  will  sit  here 
and  rest  a  bit." 

Winifred  related  the  story,  interrupted  by  many 
exclamations  of  wonder,  pity,  and  admiration  from 
Mrs.  Alwright. 

"  Dear,  dear !  Well,  I  do  declare !  I  never  heard 
the  like!  It  is  like  a  story  out  of  a  play  or  a 


128 

romance-  -not  that  you  should  ever  touch  plays  and 
romances,  my  dear,  for  they  are  all  a  pack  of 
wickedness  and  abominations — at  least  all  that  are 
written  now-a-days.  Well,  I  am  truly  thank  fill 
that  it  has  all  turned  out  so  well,  and  that  Colonel 
Kirke  is  going  away.  The  king's  messenger  came 
last  night  just  as  they  were  rising  from  supper,  and 
Colonel  Kirke  was  not  very  well  pleased,  I  could 
see  that  plainly.  I  fancy  he  has  some  game  afoot 
that  he  did  not  care  to  leave,  but  what,  I  do  not 
know  nor  want  to  know.  He  is  a  bad,  impudent 
man,  if  he  were  twice  the  king's  officer,  and  his 
servants  are  as  bad  as  their  master,  enough  to  turn 
any  decent  house  upside  down.  Well,  so  Sir  Ed 
ward  said  he  would  ride  with  him  for  company , 
•since  he  must  go  next  week  at  any  rate  ;  and  wo 
have  been  all  in  a  bustle,  my  lady  and  I,  getting 
him  ready  and  making  biscuits  and  gingerbread 
for  the  road.  Fortunately  .his  clothes  are  all  in 
order ;  whereby,  my  dear,  you  may  see  the  greal 
importance  of  never  letting  things  fall  behindhand 
as  I  am  often  telling  you,  and  your  mother  the 
game,  no  doubt.  And  here  I  am,  keeping  yon  aL? 
this  time !"  cried  Alwright,  as  if  she  had  jus! 
thought  of  it ;  "  and  my  lady  said  you  were  to 
eome  to  her  directly  you  came  in!  So  run  up- 


THE   DISGL1SE.  129 

stairs,  as  quickly  as  you  can !  You  will  find  ray 
lady  in  her  closet,  where  you  went  before." 

Winifred  stopped  only  to  lay  aside  her  cloak  and 
smooth  her  hair,  and  to  prefer  her  humble  request 
to  Mrs.  Alwright  for  something  good  for  poor  Jack. 

"  Dear  me !  Yes,  to  be  sure,  poor  lad !  He  shall 
have  some  of  the  nice  biscuits  I  made  last  night, 
and  a  pot  of  my  gooseberry  jam.  You  may  tell 
your  mother  I  do  not  think  a  little  more  generous 
diet  would  do  him  any  harm  after  this.  G-O  along 
to  my  lady,  sweetheart,  and  I  will  have  your  work 
ready  against  you  come  back.  I  am  gomg  to  teach 
you  the  lace  stitch  this  morning." 

Winifred  found  Lady  Peckharn  in  her  closet,  as 
Alwright  had  said.  The  great  red  velvet  Bible  lay 
open  before  her,  and  her  eyes  looked  as  if  she  had 
been  weeping.  Winifred  paused  at  the  door  and 
made  her  courtesy,  but  my  lady  beckoned  her  to 
come  nearer,  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"  So  you  came  near  having  a  surprise  yesterday, 
sweetheart !  Where  was  my  brother  all  the 
time?" 

"  In  the  shed,  my  lady,  under  the  fagot  stack. 
The  dog  snielt  him  and  scratched  at  the  door,  but 
the  dame  said  it  was  the  cat  he  was  after,  and 
begged  the  gentlemen  not  to  let  her  be  hurt,  so 


130  WINIFKED. 

they  thought  nothing  of  it.  But  indeed,  my  lady, 
I  was  horribly  frightened,  though  I  tried  not  to 
show  it,  lest  they  should  suspect  something.  I 
could  not  help  crying  after  they  were  gone  and  the 
danger  was  past." 

"I  do  not  wonder!"  said  Lady  Peckham,  shud- 
dering. "  It  was  a  severe  trial,  and  the  thought  ol 
it  makes  me  tremble  even  now.  How  shall  I  ever 
repay  you,  Winifred,  for  all  you  have  done  for  mo 
and  mine  ?" 

"  I  need  no  repayment,  my  lady,"  replied  Wini- 
fred. "  I  have  done  no  more  than  my  duty,  and 
you  have  ever  been  a  most  kind  friend  to  me,  both 
in  noticing  me  yourself,  and  in  allowing  Mrs.  Al- 
wright  to  teach  me  so  many  things." 

"  You  are  an  apt  scholar,  and  you  have  had  a 
higher  Teacher  than  either  myself  or  Mwright," 
tsaid  Lady  Peckham.  "  You  might  well  say  that 
He  would  give  you  strength  at  your  need.  With- 
oiit  it  you  could  never  have  come  safely  through 
inch  an  ordeal  as  that  of  yesterday.  And  now  tel 
me  about  my  brother.  How  does  he  ?" 

"  Well,  my  lady,  and  in  good  spirits  ;  but  I 
think  he  is  very  venturesome.  The  d^rne  was  ill 
with  rheumatism  yesterday,  and  nothing  would  do 
Master  Arthur  mast  go  out  and  catch  a  nsh 


THE  DISGUISE.  131 

for  tier,  and  then  cook  it  himself,  and  tidy  up  the 
cottage.  He  was  sweeping  when  I  went  in,  and  if 
I  had  not  been  there  to  give  him  warning,  Sir 
Edward  and  Colonel  Kirke  would  have  come  right 
in  upon  him.  I  tried  to  persuade  him  not  to  do 
the  like  again,  but  he  treated  the  whole  affair  more 
like  a  jest  than  anything  else." 

"  I  dare  say.     That  was  always  his  way,  but  lie 
feels  deeply,  for   all  that.     Did   he   send   me  no 


Winifred  repeated  it  faithfully.  Lady  Peckham 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 

t(  Poor  heart,  I  see  he  thinks  I  do  not  care  for 
him  !  He  little  knows  the  weight  which  has  rested 
upon  my  heart  all  these  years  that  he  has  been  in 
exile,  and  yet  I  think  he  might  trust  my  love. 
But  now,  Winifred,  1  wish  to  consult  you  upon 
another  matter.  Sir  Edward  has  given  me  leave 
to  ride  over  and  see  Dame  Sprat,  and  I  wish  to  go 
while  my  brother  is  there.  It  does  not  seem  to 
me  that  I  can  bear  to  let  him  go  abroad  again 
without  once  seeing  him,  but  I  do  not  see  how  to 
bring  it  about.  I  do  not  know  the  way,  and  it 
would  never  do  to  take  one  of  our  men.  Can  you 
think  of  anything  ?" 

Winifred  considered  with  a  passing  thought  ho'W 


132  WINIFRED. 

strange  it  was  that  such  a  simple  child  as  she 
should  be  called  to  assist  and  advise  such  great 
people  as  Lady  Peckham  and  Mr.  Carew ! 

"  You  do  not  always  take  a  man  with  you  when 
you  ride  about  to  visit  the  poor  folks,  my  lady. 
You  might  come  to  our  house  as  if  to  see  Jack,  and 
I  could  guide  you  through  our  lane  and  across  the 
heath  to  the  dame's  cottage.  I  as  often  go  that 
way  as  the  other.  It  is  a  somewhat  rough  ride, 
but  your  pony  is  sure-footed,  and  I  dare  say  you 
will  not  mind  for  once,  in  a  way." 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  think  the  plan  a  good  one,  and 
can  see  no  objection  to  it.  Now,  as  to  the  disguise 
for  my  brother.  I  think  we  must  call  Alwright  to 
our  council  for  that  matter." 

Mrs.  Alwright  was  called  and  consulted.  "  Why, 
my  lady,  as  to  that,  the  disguise  is  all  ready  made 
to  our  hand,  as  a  body  may  say.  There  are  the 
clothes  of  the  chaplain  who  died  last  year  at  the 
Hall.  He  had  neither  kith  nor  kin  that  I  could 
hear  of,  poor  man,  so  I  put  all  his  things  away  in 
lavender  and  camphor,  thinking  that  they  woold 
do  a  turn  for  some  poor  scholar, — wldch  showa 
the  great  advantage  of  saving  things,  since  one 
always  does  find  a  use  for  them,  sooner  or  later," 


THE  DISGUISE.  133 

added  Alwright,  improving  the  occasion  for  Wini- 
fred's benefit,  as  usual. 

"  True  I"  said  Lady  Peckham.  "  Poor  Mr.  Mills 
must  have  been  about  Arthur's  size,  I  should  say."' 

"Just  about  the  same,  my  lady,  and  there  are 
his  doublet  and  cassock,  his  wig,  spectacles,  and 
all,  even  to  a  thick  horseman's  cloak  which  he 
wore  when  he  came  here,  and  the  saddle-bags 
•which  held  his  worldly  goods,  and  room  to  spare 
too,  poor  soul!" 

. "  Nothing  could  be  more  to  our  purpose,"  said 
Lady  Peckham.  "Arthur  could  always  support 
any  character  which  it  pleased  him  to  assume,  and 
no  one  will  take  him  for  anything  but  a  clergyman 
on  his  travels.  But  how  shall  we  get  the  clothes 
conveyed  to  him  when  all  is  done  ?" 

"Nothing  could  be  easier,  my  lady,"  replied 
Alwright,  evidently  pleased  with  her  own  cleverness 
as  a  conspirator.  "I  can  do  them  up  in  a  small 
bundle,  and  you  can  take  it  on  your  horse  as  if  it 
were  something  for  the  dame  herself.  You  have 
often  done  the  like  for  poor  folks,  so  no  one  will 
think  it  strange." 

"  Very  good !"  said  Lady  Peckham.     "  There  is 
one  difficulty  removed,  but  I  see  another  and  a 
greater  one  in  the  way  of  Arthur's  escape.     JVlon*jr 
12 


134  WINIFRED. 

I  have  in  plenty,  but  how  aud  where  to  find  a  horse  ? 
Sir  Edward  has  taken  with  him  all  the  beasts  ex- 
cept the  old  coach-horses  and  rny  pony,  and  be- 
sides Arthur  could  not  possibly  take  a  horse  from 
here  without  exciting  suspicion.  What  say  you, 
Winifred?  Can  you  propose  anything?" 

"I  think,  if  you  please,  my  lady,  we  had  bettei 
consult  my  grandfather  about  that  matter.  He 
breeds  a  great  many  horses  and  knows  all  about 
them.  I  think  he  will  find  a  way  to  help  us  out." 

"Well,  be  it  so,"  said  Lady  Peckham.  "To- 
morrow is  Sunday,  and  we  will  all  go  to  church  as 
usual,  and  try  to  gather  strength  for  the  work  to 
come.  On  Monday,  Winifred,  I  will  come  to  your 
house,  and  you  shall  be  my  guide  across  the  heath 
to  the  dame's  cottage.  Meantime  consult  your 
good  grandfather  about  the  horse,  that  all  may  be 
arranged  as  speedily  as  may  be.  I  shall  not  know 
an  easy  moment  till  my  brother  is  beyond  seas  and 
in  safety." 


CHAP1 ER    IX 


SUNDAY 


WINIFRED'S  first  thought  on  waking  was, 
"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  that  this  is  Sunday,  and 
I  cannot  do  anything  except  go  to  church  and  wait 
upon  Jack!"  Never  had  the  day  of  rest,  always 
pleasant  to  her,  been  more  welcome  than  after  this 
week  of  excitement  and  fatigue.  She  slipped  out  of 
bed  without  waking  her  mother,  and  went  to  the 
window.  How  wonderfully  calm  and  quiet  every- 
thing seemed !  The  plow-horses,  turned  out  in 
the  field  near  the  house,  seemed  to  know  that  no 
work  would  be  required  of  them  this  day,  and 
stood  with  their  heads  together  looking  over  the 
gate.  The  cows  were  collected  in  their  lane,  wait- 
ing to  be  milked  and  turned  out.  The  cider-press, 
which  had  been  groaning  and  creaking  for  several 
days,  was  quiet  under  its  little  roof  of  thatch  j 


136  WINIFRED. 

the  very  poultry  seemed  to  make  less  noise  than 
usual,  and  a  pretty  robin  was  singing  liis  autumn 
ong  on  the  top  of  the  porch.  Winifred  drew  a 
long  breath,  and  again  repeated  to  herself,  "  Oh, 
how  glad  I  am  that  this  is  Sunday !" 

After  breakfast  and  the  finishing  up  of  the 
morning's  work,  arose  the  question  who  was  to  go 
to  church,  and  who  was  to  stay  at  home  with  Jack. 
Priscilla  volunteered  to  stay,  and  was  not  at  al] 
pleased  when  Jack  declared,  peevishly,  that  he 
didn't  want  her — he  wanted  Winnie. 

u  Priscy  will  just  keep  scolding  at  me  all  tLe 
time,  and  she  can't  read  either.  She  has  to  spell 
all  the  words.  I  want  Winnie  to  read  to  me  in  the 
*  Pilgrim's  Progress,'  and  about  David,  and  Goliath, 
and  Samson." 

"  Master  Jack  is  very  fond  of  hearing  about  all 
sorts  of  brave  doings,"  said  Priscilla.  "  He  takes 
his  bravery  out  in  that  way,  I  think.  As  for  Miss 
Winnie's  new  book,  'tis  no  fit  book  to  read  ca 
Sunday,  in  my  opinion.  'Tis  more  like  a  fairy 
tale." 

"  O  no,  Priscy !  It  i&  just  as  good  a  Sunday 
book  as  '  The  Whole  Duty  of  Man,'  "  said  Winifred. 
*'  I  will  explain  it  all  to  you,  some  day." 

Priscy  was  still  pri  vatcly  of  opinion  that  a 


SUNDAY.  137 

which  was  so  interesting  coald  not  possibly  be  fit 
for  Sunday,  but  she  did  not  like  to  contradict 
Winifred,  whom  she  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of 
saint  ;  so  she  contented  herself  with  declaring 
that  there  were  no  such  books  when  she  was  young 
—which  was  undoubtedly  true — and  that  my  Lady 
Colville  (with  whom  she  had  once  lived,  and  who 
was  her  great  authority  upon  all  occasions)  had 
severely  reproved  my  Lady  Alice  and  had  kept  hei 
upon  bread  and  water  for  two  days  because  she 
found  her  reading  in  the  'Arcadia'  on  Sundaj 
evening. 

"  The  '  Arcadia'  is  a  story-book,  I  know,"  said 
Winifred.  "  I  read  out  of  it  to  Mrs.  Alwright,  and 
it  is  all  about  shepherds,  and  shepherdesses,  and 
knights.  That  is  not  at  all  like  the  '  Pilgrim'? 
Progress,'  Priscy." 

Priscy  could  not  see  the  difference,  but  said  she 
supposed  Mrs.  Winifred  knew  best. 

"  Of  course  she  does,"  said  Jack  ;  "  and  you  will 
stay  with  me,  won't  you,  Winnie  ?" 

Winifred  had  particularly  wished  to  go  to  church. 
She  always  enjoyed  the  services  very  much,  and  she 
felt  as  though  she  specially  needed  their  soothing 
and  strengthening  influence,  after  the  worry  and 
excitement  of  the  week  past  ;  but  she  saw  tlxat 


138  WINIFRED. 

Jack  had  set  his  heart  upon  her  reading  to  him, 
and  she  knew  that  if  he  and  Priscy  were  left  to- 
gether, they  would  do  nothing  but  quarrel  all  the 
morning. 

"  Well,  never  mind,  Jack,  I  will  stay  with  you 
this  morning,  and  go  to  church  in  the  afternoon/ 
eaid  she.  "  It  is  very  dull  to  lie  in  bed  and  do 
nothing.  I  found  that  out  when  1  had  the  fever." 

"Yes,  and  very  much  Master  Jack  put  himself 
out  for  you  then,  did  he  not?"  said  Priscilla. 
"  He  would  not  so  much  as  go  down  to  the  spring 
in  the  evening  when  you  wanted  some  cool  water, 
because  he  was  afraid  of  the  bogle.  Suppose  Miss 
Winifred  should  say  she  was  afraid  to  stay  alone 
in  the  house  with  you  for  fear  of  robbers,  what 
then,  Master  Jack  ?" 

Jack,  having  no  better  answer  at  hand,  began  to 
cry. 

"  Hush,  hush,  Priscy !"  said  Winifred,  gravely. 
"I  am  sure  that  is  not  proper  talk  for  Sunday. 
Did  not  you  promise  me  that  you  would  not  tease 
Jack  any  more,  while  he  was  sick  ?" 

"  Well,  he  is  enough  to  aggravate  anybody.  But 
I  won't  say  any  more,  only  next  time  I  hope  he 
will  remember  and  do  as  he  would  be  done  by, 
that's  alll"  And  Priscilla  flounced  out  of  the 


SUNDAY.  139 

room,  and  went  to  "  clean  herself,"  as  she  said,  for 
church. 

"Don't  say  any  more,  Jack!"  said  Winifred ; 
**you  will  make  your  head  ache.  You  need  not 
think  so  much  of  what  Priscy  says.  You  know  she 
would  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you." 

"  What  do  I  care  about  her  doing  for  me,  when 
ehe  plagues  me  all  the  time!"  sobbed  Jack.  " She 
is  alwayn  saying  the  hatefulest  things  she  can  think 
of,  and  then  when  I  am  mad,  she  begins  to  tell 
what  she  has  done  for  me.  I  would  rather  people 
would  never  do  anything  for  me,  than  that  they 
should  be  always  twitting  me  with  it  afterwards  !" 

"  I  have  felt  a  good  deal  so  myself,"  said  Wini- 
fred. "It  is  very  hard  to  be  grateful  for  favors 
when  they  are  thrown  in  one's  face.  Somehow  one 
feels  as  if  one  had  paid  for  them  all  that  they  were 
worth.  But  don't  let  us  think  anything  more 
about  it,  lest  we  should  spoil  our  Sunday.  How 
far  have  you  got  in  the  book  ?" 

"  Just  to  where  he  came  to  the  lions." 

"But,  Winnie,"  said  Jack,  with  some  little 
trepidation  in  his  voice,  "you  are  not  afraid  to 
stay  all  alone  with  me  while  they  go  to  church,  are 
you  ?  You  don't  really  think  there  is  any  danger  ?" 


140  WINIFRED. 

"Of  course  not!"  said  Winifred,  "what  is  there 
to  fear?" 

"Oh,  nothing — only — I  wish  Koger  or  grand- 
father would  stay  at  home  with  us  1" 

"  Roger  has  gone  home  to  see  his  sick  mother, 
and  I  am  sure  you  would  not  want  grandfather  to 
stay  at  home.  Just  think,  how  long  it  is  since  he 
has  been  able  to  go  to  church  before !  What  harm 
can  possibly  happen  to  us  ?" 

Jack  didn't  know,  only  it  was  very  disagreeable 
to  be  left  alone  with  nobody  but  a  little  girl  to 
take  care  of  him.  "  Suppose  the  robbers  shoald 
come,  or  suppose  there  should  be  a  thundei-otorm, 
or  such  an  apparition  as  Dame  Rogers  saw  when 
she  was  all  alone  in  the  house !" 

"  Or  suppose  one  of  the  lions  should  come  out 
of  the  book  and  bite  you,  which  is  quite  as  likely," 
said  Winifred,  laughing.  "  You  are  always  talking 
about  going  to  sea  with  my  father,  Jack.  What 
sort  of  sailor  will  you  make  if  you  are  afraid  of 
storms  at  home,  with  a  good  roof  over  your  head  ? 
Or  what  would  you  do  if  the  ship  were  attacked  by 
the  Barbary  pirates,  as  the  Princess  of  Orange  was 
once  ?  Dear  Jack,  do  try  and  not  be  so  afraid  of 
everything  1" 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  help  it,"  said  Jack ; 


SUNDAY. 

"  and  I  am  not  afraid  of  everything,  either.  If  1 
had  been  I  should  not  have  gone  up  the  tree  after 
the  magpie.  But  I  don't  like  to  be  alone  here, 
and  I  think  grandfather  might  stay  at  home." 

"  I  would  not  say  anything  about  it ;  they  "will 
only  laugh  at  you,"  said  Winifred.  "  I  will  read 
to  you,  and  then  they  will  be  at  home  again  before 
you  can  think." 

The  dread  of  being  laughed  at  by  his  grand- 
father prevailed  for  the  time  over  Jack's  other 
fears,  and  he  saw  the  family  set  out  for  church 
without  making  any  more  objections  ;  but  when 
they  were  gone,  his  terror  revived.  He  insisted 
on  Winifred's  fastening  all  the  doors  and  windows, 
and  calling  in  the  great  house-dog  to  guard  them  ; 
and  she  had  no  sooner  done  so,  and  settled  herself 
down  to  read,  than  he  concluded,  after  all,  it  would 
be  safer  to  have  Trusty  in  the  yard,  as  he  could 
give  them  notice  by  barking  if  any  danger  ap- 
proached. Then  he  interrupted  her  once  more  to 
ask  her  if  she  did  not  hear  a  noise  in  the  outer 
kitchen. 

"  I  hear  the  kittens  chasing  one  another  and  the 
cat  mewing  to  them.  I  suppose  Priscy  shut  them 
in  to  look  out  for  the  mice.  Now,  Jack,  do  listen  I" 
And  Winnie  read  on  : 


142  WINIFRED. 

"'Now,  before  lie  had  gone  far, 'he  entered  into  a 
very  narrow  passage,  which  was  about  a  furlong  off 
the  porter's  lodge,  and,  looking  very  narrowly  before 
him  as  he  went,  he  spied  two  lions  in  the  way. 
'Now,'  thought  he '  " 

"Winnie,  do  listen!"  said  Jack.  "I  am  sure  I 
hear  some  one  on  the  porch  I" 

"I  dare  say  it  is  only  Trusty,"  said  Winifred. 
"I  will  look  out  of  the  window  and  see." 

"No,  don't!"  whispered  Jack.  "What  if  it 
should  be  a  robber,  and  he  should  see  you  ?  Don't 
stir,  and  then  he  will  not -know  that  there  is  any- 
body in  the  house!  There,  do  you  hear  that?" 
And  Jack  seized  hold  of  Winifred's  hand,  and  hid 
his  face  in  the  bed-clothes,  as  a  man's  foot  was 
distinctly  heard  upon  the  stones  outside. 

"Dear  Jack,  don't  be  so  scared !"  said  Winifred. 
'•'  I  don't  think  there  is  any  danger.  I  dare  say  it 
is  only  some  traveller  wishing  to  inquire  his  way,, 
or  perhaps  one  of  the  neighbors  has  been  taken  ilL 
Let  me  peep  out  of  the  window  and  see." 

But  Jack  would  not  allow  her  to  move.  He  had 
fully  persuaded  himself  that  the  stranger  was  cap- 
tain of  a  band  of  robbers,  and  that  his  grandfather 
would  come  home  in  time  to  find  him  and  his 


SUNDAY.  143 

gifitci  robbed  and  murdered ,  or  perhaps  carried  off 
and  sold  as  slaves. 

"It  is  some  one  whom  Trusty  knows,"  said 
Winifred,  after  listening  a  little.  "  Just  hear  how 
the  old  dog  whines  and  barks,  exactly  as  he  does 
when  father  comes  home.  O  Jack!  suppose  it 
should  be  father  himself !  It  might  be,  you  know. 
He  might  have  set  out  from  Plymouth  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday,  and  been  delayed  on  the  road.  Do, 
Jack,  let  me  look  out  and  see !" 

No,  Jack  would  not  let  her  stir.  He  knew  that 
it  was  not  his  father,  though  it  might  very  likely 
be  his  father's  ghost,  come  to  tell  them  that  he  had 
been  murdered  on  the  way  home.  More  likely, 
however,  it  was  a  gypsy,  who  it  was  well  known 
knew  how  to  tame  any  dog,  however  fierce.  He 
grew  so  agitated  that  Winifred  was  afraid  he  might 
injure  his  broken  arm  in  his  struggles,  and  though 
she  felt  almost  certain  that  the  stranger  was  her 
father,  she  did  not  again  try  to  move  tiD  the  family 
ame  home.  It  did  seem  a  very  long  time  to  her 
as  well  as  to  Jack  before  they  were  heard  approach- 
ing. Then  Winifred  heard  her  mother's  voice  in 
a  tore  of  joyful  surprise,  and  then  another  which 
8he  knew  right  well. 

"It  is  father,  as  I  told  you!"  said  she,  as  she 


144  WINIFRED. 

hastened  to  unbar  the  door.  ft  Wliai  will  he  tliiuk 
of  us  for  not  letting  him  in  ?" 

.*'  Why,  Winifred,  what  has  come  over  you  all  at 
once  V"  said  her  grandfather.  "  Why  did  you  not 
look  out  and  see  who  was  there?  Here  has  been 
your  father  sitting  in  the  porch  this  hour  and  more, 
thinking,  to  be  sure,  as  all  the  doors  and  windows 
are  fastened,  there  would  be  nobody  at  home.  That 
is  but  a  poor  welcome  to  give  your  father,  child !" 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  sailor,  as  he  took  Wini- 
fred in  his  arms.  "We  don't  expect  little  girls  to 
be  very  brave,  and  the  many  frightful  things  which 
have  happened  of  late  are  enough  to  make  cowards 
of  older  and  stronger  people  than  Winifred.  But, 
sweetheart,  you  used  not  to  be  afraid  of  anything!" 

Winifred  did  not  say  it  was  Jack  who  had  pre- 
vented her  from  opening  the  door.  She  thought 
the  truth  would  come  out  quite  soon  enough,  and 
so  it  did,  not  by  any  good  will  of  Jack's,  however. 
He  was  in  no  hurry  to  let  his  father  know  that  he 
was  afraid,  and  laughed  as  heartily  as  anybody  at 
the  idea  of  Winifred's  barring  the  door  to  keep  out 
her  own  father. 

"Of  course  you  know  /could  not  get  out  of  bod 
to  open  it!"  said  he  ;  "so  there  we  were  listening 
and  wondering  who  it  could  possibly  be.  You 


SUNDAY.  145 

would  not  liave  stayed  in  the  porch  if  I  had  been 
able  to  get  about." 

Unluckily  for  poor  Jack,  this  speech  was  over- 
heard by  Priscilla,  who  had  just  come  in  behind 
the  others.  She  pounced  upon  him  directly. 

"  Yes,  if  you  had  been  about,  no  doubt  it  would 
have  been  just  right.  I  dare  say  it  was  you  whc 
held  Miss  Winifred  fast,  and  would  not  let  her  stir  , 
and  thought  your  father  was  all  the  thieves  and 
robbers  that  ever  were  in  Bridge  water  jail.  Now 
wasn't  it  so,  Miss  Winded  ?" 

"  Never  mind,  Priscy,"  replied  Winifred,  making 
her  a  sign  to  stop.  "  My  father  is  in  now,  and 
what  does  it  matter  ?" 

"  It  matters  a  great  deal !"  said  her  father.  "  Now, 
Winifred,  tell  me  the  truth.  WTas  it  yourself  or 
Jack  who  was  afraid  to  open  the  door  ?" 

"  It  was  Jack,  father,  said  Winifred,  in  a  low 
tone,  and  casting  a  reproachful  glance  at  Priscilla. 

"  And  you,  Jack,  threw  the  blame  upon  your  sis- 
tor  !  Oh,  my  lad,  for  shame  •!  It  is  bad  enough  to 
be  a  coward,  but  it  is  far  worse  to  try  to  shift  the 
blame  of  your  own  cowardice  upon  another  person's 
shoulders.  I  see  you  have  been  young  master  at 
home  too  long.  To  sea  you  go,  my  lad,  as  soon  as 
ever  your  arm  is  well.  The  ship  is  to  be  laid  up 


146  WINIFRED. 

for  repairs,  and  by  the  time  she  is  finished  you  will 
be  quite  recovered." 

Jack  did  not  know  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry 
at  this  decision.  He  was  pleased  with  the  thought 
of  leaving  home,  where  he  often  fancied  that  every 
one  was  very  unjust  and  unkind  to  him  ;  and  he 
liked  the  notion  of  being  a  sailor,  and  seeing  for- 
eign countries.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  a 
great  dread  of  the  dangers  of  the  sea,  and  he  stood 
not  a  little  in  awe  of  his  father.  However,  he  com- 
forted himself  with  reflecting  that  a  great  many 
things  might  happen  in  the  course  of  six  months, 
and  he  might  never  go  after  all  ;  while,  in  the  mean 
time,  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  talking  about 
his  prospects  to  all  the  boys  in  the  village.  So  he 
finally  concluded  to  make  the  best  of  matters, 
especially  as  they  could  not  be  helped.  It  was  ob- 
servable that  Jack's  recovery  went  on  much  more 
rapidly  after  his  father's  return.  The  next  day  but 
one  he  was  up  and  dressed,  and  going  about  with 
his  arm  in  a  sling  ;  and  he  even  offered  to  carry- 
Dame  Sprat's  milk  to  her,  an  offer  which  was  dryly 
refused  by  his  mother,  with  the  remark  that  she 
had  no  milk  to  spare,  to  be  thrown  away  the  first 
time  Jack  saw  his  own  shadow  on  the  ground. 


CMAPTCA 


THE    ESCAPE. 


TXTINIFKED  had  talked  over  with  her  giandfa- 
!  T  ther  on  Saturday  night  the  question  of  pro- 
curing a  horse  for  Arthur  Carew  ;  and  Master 
Evans,  after  some  consideration,  had  decided  that 
he  could  spare  the  black  mare,  which  was  a  steady, 
strong  beast,  and  more  suitable  in  appearance  for  a 
clergyman  than  any  of  the  colts.  He  told  Winifred 
that  it  would  be  best  for  Arthur,  after  putting  on 
his  disguise,  to  come  himself  for  the  mare.  There 
would  be  nothing  remarkable  in  his  doing  so,  aa 
many  people  came  to  the  Stonehill  farm  to  buy 
horses,  and  it  would  be  a  safer  course  than  letting 
any  of  the  men  either  at  the  Hall  or  the  farm  have 
a  guess  at  the  secret. 

"Yon  are  sure  it  will  be   quite  &afe  for  him, 
grandfather?"  said  Winifred. 


1 48  WINTFREb. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  Nobody  about  here  has  seen 
Master  Arthur  Carew  for  many  years,  and  so  far  as 
1  can  hear,  no  one  has  mentioned  his  name  in 
connection  with  the  Duke  of  Monmouth.  Indeed, 
there  was  a  rumor  some  time  ago  that  he  had  died 
in  foreign  parts." 

"He  went  by  a  different  name,  I  know,"  said 
Winifred.  "  He  called  himself  FuUerton." 

"  I  am  glad  he  had  at  least  that  much  sense," 
said  Master  Evans.  "  It  was  a  most  mad  under- 
taking for  all  concerned." 

"  Master  Arthur  only  came  along  because  of  his 
affection  for  the  duke,"  replied  Winifred,  feeling 
somehow  that  she  did  not  like  to  hear  Arthur 
blamed. 

"That  may  oe  some  excuse,  but  it  does  not 
justify  him.  We  have  no  right  to  let  our  friends 
drag  us  into  doing  what  we  know  to  be  foolish  and 
wrong.  However,  there  is  no  help  for  it  now.  I 
think  we  have  hit  upon  the  best  way  of  managing 
the  matter  :  Mr.  Arthur  can  come  as  if  from  the 
Hall,  and  if  any  one  sees  him,  he  will  be  taken  for 
some  poor  scholar  whom  my  lady  has  been  help- 
ing en  his  way.  You  had  better  tell  my  lady  all 
this  yourself.  I  should  say,  the  sooner  the  matter 
was  managed  the  better." 


THE  ESCAPE.  149 

As  her  grandfather  advised,  Winifred  disclosed 
the  plan  to  Lady  Peckham,  who  arrived  on  ver 
pony  the  next  day,  followed  by  a  serving-man 
bearing  a  good-sized  bundle,  and  dismounted  to 
see  Jack.  Jack  was  very  sensible  of  the  honor, 
and  also  of  the  cakes  my  lady  brought  him,  and 
listened  with  all  due  respect  and  submission  to  the 
lecture  she  read  him  upon  doing  as  he  was  bid 
and  keeping  the  fifth  commandment. 

"  And  now,  Winifred,  if  you  are  ready  to  guide 
me  to  the  cottage,  I  think  we  will  dismiss  Thomas," 
said  her  ladyship,  rising.  "1  want  him  to  ride 
into  Bridgewater  and  do  some  errands  there.  Mrs. 
Alwright  will  give  you  your  commissions,  Thomas, 
and  it  is  full  time  you  were  on  your  way." 

Thomas  was  well  enough  pleased  to  be  excused 
from  attending  his  lady  to  the  cottage  of  Dame 
Sprat,  whom,  like  many  other  people,  he  looked 
upon  as  a  kind  of  white  witch,  or  at  least  as  know- 
ing more  than  any  Christian  ought  to  know.  He 
made  his  reverence,  therefore,  and  departed  on  his 
errand,  and  Lady  Peckham  prepared  to  mount  her 
horse  once  more. 

"Whose  voice  is  that?"  she  exclaimed,  starting, 
as  a  man's  voice  was  heard  without.    '*  It  is  surely 
not  your  grandfather's !" 
13* 


150  WINIFRED. 

Jack  saw  the  start  and  the  change  of  color,  and 
treasured  them  up  as  some  sort  of  excuse  for  his 
own  terrors  of  the  day  before — terrors  of  which  he 
was  more  and  more  ashamed  the  more  he  tnought 
of  them.  He  little  guessed  what  cause  for  alarm 
the  poor  lady  had,  since,  of  course,  no  one  had 
dared  to  let  him  into  the  secret. 

"  It  is  only  my  father,  madam,"  said  Winifred. 
"  He  came  home  yesterday,  and  understanding 
that  your  ladyship  was  to  be  here  to-day,  he 
desired  to  pay  his  duty  to  you." 

Lady  Peckham  was  a  true  lady,  both  by  nature 
and  education,  as  well  as  by  name,  and  though  she 
was  all  the  time  impatient  to  be  gone,  she  listened 
graciously  while  Gilbert  Evans,  in  few  but  sensible 
words,  expressed  his  gratitude  for  her  kindness  to 
his  daughter.  He  ended  by  requesting  her  lady- 
ship's acceptance  of  a  valuable  and  curious  piece 
of  China  vase  which  he  had  brought  from  the  East. 
Lady  Peckham  was  really  pleased  with  the  present 
which  was  of  a  kind  highly  valued  at  that  time, 
and  she  was  also  pleased  with  the  feeling  which 
had  evidently  prompted  it.  So  there  was  great 
satisfaction  upon  all  sides,  and  it  was  arranged 
that  Gilbert  should  himself  carry  the  vase  to  the 
Hall  next  day. 


THE  ESCAPE.  161 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  tlie  meeting  be- 
tween the  brother  and  sister,  nor  that  between  the 
lady  and  the  old  woman  whom  her  father  had  so 
deeply  injured,  and  who  had  had  such  a  rare 
opportunity  of  returning  good  for  evil.  It  is  enough 
to  say  that  the  dame  welcomed  her  guest  with 
true  Christian  politeness,  and  th  \t  Arthur  greeted 
his  sister  with  the  warmest  affection — that  Winifred 
kept  watch  at  the  door  while  the  interview  lasted, 
and  that  it  was  settled  that  Arthur  should  come 
up  to  the  Hall  early  the  next  morning,  that  he 
might  go  from  thence  to  Master  Evans'  house. 
The  brother  and  sister  had  so  many  things  to  say 
to  each  other,  that  it  was  not  till  Dame  Sprat  her- 
self warned  the  lady  of  the  danger  of  such  a  long 
visit  that  they  could  make  up  their*  minds  to  sep- 
arate. On  farther  consideration  it  was  decided 
that  Arthur  should  not  risk  being  recognized  by 
any  of  the  servants  at  the  Hail,  but  that  he  should 
come  at  once  to  the  farm  and  thence  depart  with- 
out farther  leave-taking. 

The  next  morning  Winifred  was  at  work  in  the 
garden,  gathering  various  kinds  of  herbs  and  seeds. 
It  was  a  task  in  which  she  took  great  delight,  find- 
ing much  pleasure  in  observing  the  forms  and 
markings  of  the  leaves,  and  the  different  ways  in 


152  WINIFRED. 

which  the  seeds  were  provided  fcr.  She  was  so 
busy  that  she  did  not  look  up  till  she  heard  her 
father's  voice  close  beside  her. 

"Where  is  your  grandfather,  daughter?  Hero 
is  a  gentleman  who  desires  to  see  him  about  buy- 
ing a  horse." 

"Winifred  looked  up  with  a  start.  She  could 
hardly  believe  her  eyes.  Could  this  middle-asred 
clergyman  in  spectacles,  with  his  full  periwig, 
napped  hat,  and  somewhat  worn  black  suit — could 
this  be  Arthur  Carew  ? 

"Is  this  your  daughter,  my  friend?"  said  the 
stranger,  in  formal,  measured  tones.  "Truly,  a 
fine  child,  and  one,  my  Lady  Peckham  tells  me,  of 
great  promise.  I  think  I  have  seen  you  with  my 
lady  at  the  Hall,  have  I  not,  my  little  maid?"  he 
asked,  while  the  least  bit  of  a  roguish  twinkle  showed 
itself  in  his  eyes.  "  But  I  dare  say  you  do  not  re- 
member me." 

Winifred  could  only  courtesy  and  say  that  she 
remembered  the  gentleman  very  well. 

"  Will  it  please  you  to  walk  into  the  houso,  and 
wait  for  my  father,  sir  ?"  said  Gilbert  Evans.  "  He 
is  in  the  house  field,  but  I  will  soon  call  him." 

"  With  your  good  leave  I  will  repose  here,"  re- 
plied the  stranger,  seating  himself  on  the  bench 


THE   ESC  ATE.  153 

ander  the  great  pear-tree.  "  This  soft  autumn  ail 
is  grateful  to  my  senses,  and  I  am  somewhat  weary 
with  my  walk.  And  so  you  did  know  me,  Winifred, 
after  all?"  he  added,  as  soon  as  Gilbert  Evans  was 
out  of  hearing. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  have  done  so,  if  I  had 
not  known  you  were  coming,"  answered  Winifred, 
surveying  him  from  head  to  foot.  "No,»I  am  sure 
I  should  not.  The  wig  seems  to  alter  the  shape  of 
your  face  entirely." 

fi  So  much  the  better !  Now,  Winifred,  that  we 
are  alone,  I  wish  to  say  a  few  serious  words  to  you. 
You  have  saved  my  life  and  the  credit  of  my  family. 
Whether  we  shall  ever  meet  again,  God  only  knows, 
but  I  shall  never  forget  you,  and  you  must  always 
remember  me.  Will  you  promise  to  do  so  ?" 

Winifred  tried  to  keep  back  her  tears,  as  she 
said  she  should  never  forget  Mr.  Arthur  as  long  as 
she  lived. 

"I  am  but  a  wanderer — a  hunted  exile,  without 
home  or  country,"  resumed  Arthur,  "  and  you  are 
bardly  more  than  a  child  even  now  ;  but  if  ever  I 
return,  I  shall  come  to  find  you.  I  must  not  even 
write  to  you,  since  it  would  not  be  safe  for  either, 
but  I  shall  think  of  you,  and  meantime  I  want  YOU 
to  wear  this." 


154:  WINIFRED. 

He  took  from  his  breast  a  beautiful  little  locket 
and  chain,  decorated'  with  a  crest  and  figures  in 
black  and  green  enamel. 

"  This  locket  contains  my  mother's  and  sister's 
hair,  and  in  all  my  wanderings  I  have  never  parted 
with  it.  Put  it  round  your  neck  under  your  ker- 
chief— so.  Now,  have  you  nothing  to  give  me  in 
exchanger-no  little  silver  penny  or  sixpence  ?" 

"I  have  only  this,"  said  Winifred,  taking  from 
her  pocket  the  broad,  thin  Moorish  gold  coin  which 
Colonel  Kirke  had  given  her. 

"  That  will  do,  nicely.  Now  farewell,  my  own 
Winifred!  Be  as  much  as  may  be  with  my  sister, 
and  learn  all  you  can  of  her  and  of  good  A1- 
wright.  Give  them  my  last  love.  Pray  for  me, 
sweetheart !  You  and  the  good  dame,  between  you, 
taught  me  that  the  Christian  religion  is  a  reality, 
There,  I  hear  your  good  grandfather  coming." 

Winifred  stood  feeling  like  one  in  a  dream,  while 
Rogei  led  out  the  black  mare  from  the  stable. 
The  stranger  looked  her  over,  and  seemed  to  talk 
about  the  price,  while  the  saddle  was  put  on  her 
and  the  stirrups  adjusted.  At  last  all  was  settled, 
The  stranger  mounted,  bowed  politely  to  her 
grandfather,  put  something  -into  old  Roger's  hand, 
and  rode  away,  turning  at  the  last  point  where  he 


THE  ESCAPE.  J.5& 

could  see  Winifred  and  raising  bis  hat.  Then  she 
drew  a  long  breath  and  went  back  to  her  work, 
wondering  how  it  was  that  all  the  interest  seemed 
to  have  gone  out  of  it,  and  that  she  could  think  of. 
nothing  but  the  last  glimpse  of  Arthur  Carew. 

"The  master  have  sold  the  black  mare,  Miss 
Winifred,  and  the  saddle  and  bridle  he  bought  of 
the  Widow  Oldmixon !"  said  Roger,  presently, 
coming  through  the  garden.  "  The  gentleman  as 
bought  them  paid  all  in  gold  and  gave  me  a  crown  - 
piece  to  boot.  He  was  a  bookish-looking  sort  ol 
man  like  a  parson,  but  he  seemed  a  goodish  judge 
of  a  horse  too,  and  he  rode  away  more  like  a 
dragoon  than  a  scholar,  to  my  mind." 

There  was  an  uneasy  feeling  in  Winifred's  heart 
that  night.  She  was  not  sure  that  she  had  done 
right  in  exchanging  toktns  with  Mr.  Carew  in  that 
way.  and  for  the  first  time  in  all  her  life  she  felt  a 
certain  disinclination  to  open  her  mind  to  her 
mother.  But  the  life-long  habit  of  openness  pre- 
vailed, and  at  bed-time,  the  usual  hour  for  confi- 
dences, she  showed  the  locket  to  her  mother  and 
told  her  all  about  it. 

Dame  Magdalen  was  not  a  little  disturbed, 
u  Beshrew  the  man  and  his  courtier's  compliments !" 
said  she  to  herself.  "I  wish  he  had  gone  any- 


156  WINIFRED. 

where  else  for  a  horse!"  But  as  she  Booked  at 
Winifred's  steadfast,  modest  gray  eyes,  she  could 
not  think  any  harm  had  yet  been  done.  "  I  am 
heartily  glad  he  is  out  of  the  way !"  was  her  second 
comment ;  but  she  only  said  :  "  There  was  no 
harm  in  it.  Mr.  Carew  naturally  wished  to  give 
you  a  token,  and  I  suppose  he  had  nothing  else 
which  he  thought  would  please  a  young  maid. 
As  to  the  exchanging  of  tokens,  that  is  but  one  of 
his  court  fashions.  I  dare  say  he  will  spend  your 
gold  piece  at  the  first  tavern." 

"Then  I  may  keep  the  locket,  mother?"  said 
Winifred,  somehow  feeling  that  her  heart  was  not 
particularly  lightened  by  this  view  of  the  case. 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,  child,  so  you  do  not  show  it. 
It  is  too  valuable  an  ornament  for  one  in  your 
station. " 

There  was  no  danger  of  her  showing  it,  Winifred 
thought.  Neither  would  she  bring  herself  to  be- 
lieve that  Mr.  Carew  would  spend  her  gold  piece 
at  the  first  tavern.  She  had  slept  alone  in  the 
little  loom  over  the  porch  since  her  father's  arrival, 
and  that  night,  for  almost  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
she  cried  herself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


THE     BEGINNING     OP     CHA.NGES, 

next  three  or  four  months  were  months  ol 
JL  sad  suspense  to  all  the  friends  of  Arthur  Carew 
To  Winifred  they  were  the  longest  she  had  ever 
spent.  All  the  excitement  and  adventure  of  her 
life  had  been  crowded  into  ten  days,  and  now  that 
they  were  over,  it  seemed  hard  to  return  to  the 
little  common  duties  of  everyday  life — to  have 
nothing  more  important  on  her  mind,  when  she 
awoke  in  the  morning,  than  feeding  the  chickens 
or  carrying  her  daily  portion  to  Dame  Sprat.  Even 
her  lessons  with  Mrs.  Alwright  had  lost  part  of 
their  charm,  now  that  there  were  no  messages  to 
carry  back  and  forth  between  nty  lady  and  Mr. 
Arthur — now  that  she  was  no  longer  a  counsellor 
and  in  some  sort  a  heroine,  but  had  sunk  into  plain 
little  Winifred  Evans  again.  In  truth  a  great 

14 


158  WINIFRED. 

cLange  liad  passed  over  Winifred.  She  had  passed 
that  place  "where  the  brooks  and  rivers  meet." 
She  had  from  a  simple  child  become  a  woman,  with 
all  a  woman's  cares  and  feelings,  living  the  best 
part  of  her  life  in  another  ;  and  she  could  no  more  go 
back  to  what  she  \va«s  before  the  memorable  night 
when  she  walked  over  the  fields  with  Arthur  Carew, 
than  she  could  return  to  the  days  when  she  played 
contentedly  for  hours  with  a  doll  and  a  few  bits  of 
broken  earthenware. 

Wrniired  had  now  to  learn  what  all  women  must 
leuxrn,  sooner  or  later,  that  it  often  requires  as  much 
courage,  though  of  a  somewhat  different  kind,  to 
live  one's  common  every-day  life,  as  it  does  to  risk 
that  life  in  some  great  danger  or  adventure.  She 
sometimes  found  it  hard  not  to  be  pettish  and  im- 
patient with  Jack  when  he  boasted  of  what  he 
would  do  when  he  was  a  sailor,  and  she  sometimes 
found  herself  looking  with  disgust  upon  the  little 
cares  and  the  common  every-day  work  which  occu- 
pied her  from  morning  till  night,  without  seeming, 
after  all,  to  bring  anything  to  pass. 

But  Winifred  was  too  truly  a  Christian,  and  too 
strongly  confirmed  ?  Q  the  habit  of  honest  self-exam- 
ination, to  allcw  this  frame  of  mind  to  become,  a  hab- 
it. She  &OOB  perc^rvoi  chat  she  was  growiug  fretful 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  CHANGES.  159 

and  discontented,  and  even  moody  and  impatient 
of  the  society  of  those  about  her,  and  she  set  her- 
self resolutely  to  remedy  the  evil,  by  earnest 
prayer,  and  by  a  steady,  straightforward  analysis 
of  her  own  feelings  and  conduct. 

"  God  has  placed  me  where  I  am,"  she  argued 
with  herself.  "  He  hath  called  me  to  this  state  of 
life,  and  the  work  I  am  obliged  to  do  every  day — 
feeding  the  fowls,  sweeping  and  scouring,  waiting 
upon  my  grandfather  and  Jack,  and  helping  Priscilla 
in  the  dairy — all  this  is  as  much  His  work,  as  sav- 
ing Mr.  Carew's  life  or  helping  my  lady.  And  if  I 
let  myself  be  unfaithful  and  discontented  in  these 
little  matters,  just  because  they  do  not  seem  to 
come  to  anything,  what  right  have  I  to  expect 
strength  when  any  great  temptation  comes  to  try 
me  ?  And  if  I  sit  thinking  of  all  that  has  hap- 
pened, and  of  Mr.  Arthur  Carew,  when  I  ought  to 
be  saying  my  praj^ers — and  I  know  I  have  done  so 
a  good  many  times — I  have  no  right  to  expect  my 
devotions  will  seem  as  pleasant  to  me  as  they  have 
done  before.  I  might  take  pattern  of  my  lady 
about  that.  Of  course  the  suspense  about  Mr. 
Arthur  must  be  much  worse  for  her  than  for  me, 
yet  she  seems  to  go  about  everything  just  as  usual 
—visiting  the  poor  sick  folks,  the  school,  and  the 


160  WINIFRED. 

old  women  at  the  almshouses,  reading  and  wort- 
ing,  though  I  dare  say  all  these  things  are  often  as 
tiresome  to  her  as  my  spinning  and  knitting  are  to 
me.  I  will  not  be  so  silly  any  more !"  was  the  con 
elusion  of  her  meditation.  "  God  has  been  very 
good  to  me  in  giving  me  such  kind  friends  as  my 
lady  and  Mrs.  Alwright,  and  such  a  home  as  this 
at  the  farm,  and  I  will  not  be  ungrateful.  I  will 
make  the  most  of  my  lessons  as  long  as  I  am  al- 
lowed to  have  them.  I  will  do  my  very  best  with  my 
spinning,  and  see  if  I  cannot  draw  as  fine  and  even 
a  thread  as  my  mother.  I  found  out  long  ago  that 
the  way  to  make  work  interesting  was  to  do  one's 
very  best  with  it.  God  has  always  been  good  to 
me,  and  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  think  that  He  can 
never  be  anything  else  than  good — that  whatever 
changes  come,  He  will  be  always  the  same." 

Winifred  was  likely  to  have  need  of  all  the 
comfort  she  could  find  in  such  thoughts,  for  many 
sad  changes  were  before  her.  One  morning,  as  sho 
entered  Mrs.  Alwright's  room,  she  found  that 
discreet  spinster  surrounded  by  a  wonderful  litter 
of  linen  and  other  garments,  busily  engaged  in 
mending  some  very  precious  lace  of  her  lady's. 

"News,  Winifred  !"  said  Mrs.  Alwright. 

"  Good  news  or  bad  ?"  asked  Winifred, 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  CHANGES.  161 

"Both  good  and  bad!  Good  news  of  Mr, 
A-rthur,  and  bad  news  for  you  and  me,  my  dear  1" 

"  Mr.  Arthur !"  asked  Winifred,  her  heart  beat- 
ing so  fast  as  almost  to  choke  her.  "  Is  he  safe  ?" 

"  Tes,  my  dear.  After  many  troubles  and  perils, 
he  escaped  in  a  ship  from  Biddeford,  and  got  safe 
and  well  through  France  into  Holland.  He  says 
he  wrote  a  letter,  and  sent  it  on  shore  just  as  they 
were  about  to  sail,  but  we  never  received  it.  My 
lady  says  you  are  to  come  up  to  her  by-and-by, 
find  she  will  tell  you  all  about  the  matter  herself." 

"  That  is  good  news,  indeed !"  said  Winifred  ; 
"  but  I  wonder  why  my  lady  never  received  his 
first  letter?" 

"No  doubt  it  was  intrusted  to  some  careless 
person  who  lost  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Alwright.  "  There 
is  no  end  to  the  evils  brought  about  by  carelessness, 
as  you  will  do  well  to  remember." 

11  And  what  is  the  bad  news,  Mrs,  Alwright  ?  I 
hope  nothing  has  happened  to  Sir  Edward." 

"  Why,  yes,  something  has  happened,  though  not 
anything  which  can  be  called  a  misfortune,  exactly. 
His  majesty  has  been  pleased  to  give  Sir  Edward 
some  office  about  the  court ;  and  we — that  is  my 
lady  and  I,  and  the  butler  and  the  coachman,  and 
Betty  Cook— --are  all  ffoing  up  to  Londor  to  live/ 


J  62  WINIFRED. 

Winifred's  heart  sank  fathoms  leep.  My  lady 
and  Mrs.  Alwright  going  away  from  the  Hall !  No 
more  lessons  in  embroidery,  no  more  reading  out 
of  the  "  Chronicle  "  and  the  "Arcadia,"  no  more 
pleasant  hours  spent  in  gathering  sweet  herbs  and 
flowers  in  the  garden,  or  helping  in  the  still-room 
and  store-room  !  No  more  hours  spent  with  my 
lady  in  reading  and  talking  about  the  Bible  and 
the  history  books — and  above  all,  no  further  chance 
of  hearing  from  Arthur  Carew  !  Winifred  felt  as 
though  all  the  sunshine  of  her  life  had  gone  out  in 
a  moment.  She  remembered  how  dissatisfied  she 
had  been  the  past  winter — how  weary  of  every- 
thing, even  of  her  precious  lessons,  and  she  felt  as 
though  God  had  punished  her  for  her  discontent 
by  taking  away  the  blessing  for  which  she  had  been 
ungrateful.  She  bit  her  lip,  and  busied  herself 
with  the  fastening  of  her  basket,  but  all  was  of  no 
use.  The  tears  would  come,  and  with  a  sudden 
impulse,  she  dropped  upon  her  knees  by  the  side 
of  her  good  old  friend,  and  laying  her  head  in  her 
lap,  she  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Aye,  poor  dear  !  I  knew  just  how  you  would 
take  it !"  said  Mrs.  Alwright,  wiping  her  own  eyes 
and  smoothing  Winifred's  hair,  entirely  regardless 
tor  once  of  the  detriment  to  her  own  clean  starched 


THE  P.EGINKING   OF  CHANGES.  163 

lawn  apron.  "  Such  a  quiet  and  pleasant  time  as 
we  have  had  this  winter  siDce  Sir  Edward  went 
away  !  So  much  as  you  have  improved,  and  just 
as  you  have  learned  to  do  cut-work  and  satin 
stitch  so  nicely,  and  all  the  darning  stitches  as  well 
as  I  could  myself.  I  meant  to  begin  with  you  in 
carpet-work  and  tapestry  the  very  next  week,  and 
give  you  the  wool  and  silk  to  work  a  cushion  for  a 
birthday  present.  I  got  them  from  Bristol  only 
last  night.  But  you  shall  have  them  just  the  same, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  lesson  every  day  that  we  stay 
at  the  Hall.  It  shall  go  hard  but  I  will  find  the 
time  somehow  or  other.  I  will  give  you  my  small 
frame,  too,  and  you  are  so  clever,  I  make  no  doubt 
you  will  be  able  to  go  on  by  yourself.  So  cheer 
up,  my  dear,  for  no  doubt  it  will  be  all  for  the  best 
in  tho  end,  and  don't  let  us  waste  our  precious 
time  in  crying,  for  that  would  be  very  foolish,  now 
that  we  have  so  little  left." 

Winifred  felt  the  truth  of  this  last  remark.  She 
dried  her  eyes,  and  prepared  to  make  the  most  of 
the  few  pleasant  hours  she  was  likely  to  enjoy. 
Mrs.  Alwright  brought  out  her  frame  ind  pre- 
pared her  canvas,  and  Winifred  for  a  time  almost 
forgot  her  troubles  in  the  excitement  of  seeing  * 


164  WINIFRED. 

protty  pink  rose-bud  growing  up,  as  it  were,  under 
her  fingers. 

"Does  my  lady  like  going  to  London?"  she 
asked,  as  she  presently  stopped  to  thread  her 
needle. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  it  is  not  always  easy  to  say 
what  my  lady  likes.  You  know  great  folks  are  not 
forward  in  expressing  their  feelings,  and  my  lady 
never  talks  of  herself.  Of  course,  if  Sir  Edward  is 
to  live  in  London,  my  lady  would  wish  to  be  with 
him,  like  a  dutiful  wife  as  she  is  ;  and  so  much  the 
better  for  him,  since,  between  ourselves,  my  dear, 
though  I  would  not  say  so  to  every  one,  she  has 
more  sense  in  her  glove  than  ever  dwelt  under  his 
hat.  I  dare  say  my  lady  may  be  pleased  at  the 
thought  of  seeing  some  of  her  old  friends  again  ; 
but,  upon  the  whole,  I  am  of  opinion  that  she 
would  rather  stay  here  than  go  to  town.  She 
never  was  fond  of  company,  even  as  a  girl.  She 
would  often  beg  to  be  left  at  home  when  the  rest 
went  out,  and  after  she  became  a  widow,  I  do 
believe  that  with  her  own  good  will  she  would 
never  have  left  her  own  room,  save  to  go  to  church 
or  visit  some  poor  body. 

"  Sir  Edward  went  to  London  after  his  marriage, 
and  was  much  about  the  king  for  some  years.  So 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  CHANGES.  165 

my  lady  had  to  go  to  court  "with  the  other  great 
ladies,  but  never  was  a  bird  more  glad  to  escape 
from  the  cage  than  she  was  when  we  came  down 
to  the  Hall.  She  recovered  her  spirits  wonder- 
fully, so  that  Sir  Edward  himself  noticed  tho 
change,  and  he  was  greatly  pleased  to  see  her  take 
such  an  interest  in  the  gardens  and  in  the  schools 
and  alrnshouses  which  his  grandmother  set  up.  It 
seemed  as  though  she  grew  ten  years  younger. 
No,  I  cannot  think  my  lady  would  ever  go  to  Lon- 
don of  her  own  accord." 

"  And  you,  Mrs.  Alwright,  how  do  you  like  it  ?" 
"  My  dear,  I  hate  and  detest  London  and  every- 
thing belonging  to  it!"  said  Mrs.  Alwright,  with 
so  much  energy  that  Winifred  started  and  broke 
her  thread.  "  Nasty,  dirty  place  that  it  is,  always 
knee-deep  in  dirt,  in  mud  or  dust,  everything  cov- 
ered with  soot  and  black,  so  that  one  can  never  be 
sure  of  a  decent  cap  and  kerchief  for  two  minutes 
together,  and  no  getting  them  washed  as  they 
should  be,  either!  All  sorts  of  wickedness  and 
folly  going  on,  night  and  day.  Never  sure  when 
one  hires  a  new  maid  that  she  is  not  a  what-shall- 
call-um,  who  will  rob  the  house  and  run  away  the 
first  chance  you  give  her,  and  pretty  certain  that 
she  will  be  a  lazy,  dirty  baggage,  not  worth  hei 


166  WINIFRED. 

salt!  The  streets  full  of  all  sorts  of  disorder  so 
that  no  one  is  safe  after  dark.  My  lady  was  once 
stopped  in  her  coach,  corning  home  from  White- 
hall, and  would  have  been  robbed  and  murdered 
too,  for  aught  I  know,  only  for  a  party  of  soldiers 
-who  came  up  just  in  time.  Poor  starving  creatures 
begging  at  the  corners  of  the  streets — why,  if  you 
will  believe  me,  my  dear,  a  poor  siilor  actually 
crept  into  our  back-yard  for  shelter  one  cold  night, 
and  was  found  dying  in  the  morning.  My  lady 
and  I  tried  all  we  could  to  revive  him,  but  he  was 
too  far  gone.  He  said  he  had  ate  nothing  for  a 
week,  and  I  could  easily  believe  it  by  his  looks. 
Brazen,  painted  baggages  riding  in  their  coaches  in 
the  park  and  jostling  honest  women !" 

Mrs.  Alwright  stopped  for  sheer  want  of  breath. 

"Bull  suppose  there  must  be  some  good  people 
in  so  large  a  place  as  London?"  said  Winifred, 
doubtfully. 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  child,  a  plenty  of  them.  Even 
in  the  court  itself,  bad  as  it  was.  There  was  Mrs, 
Godolphin,  a  saint  if  ever  there  was  one,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Evelyn,  better  people  could  not  be  ;  and 
as  for  Mrs.  Macy,  their  daughter,  she  was  too  good 
to  live.  O  yes,  no  doubt  there  are  good  people 
everywhere,  bat  yet  there  is  a  terrible  deal  of 


THE   BEGINNING   OE   CHANGES.  167 

wickedness  in  great  cities,  such  as  we  know  noth- 
ing about  here  ;  for  iny  part,  I  could  wish  there 
was  no  such  place.  I  did  hope  to  spend  the  rest 
of  my  da^  s  among  the  green  fields,  and  to  live  and 
die  in  the  country  ;  but  God's  will  be  done !  No 
doubt  He  knows  best!" 

"It  is  hard  to  think  so  always,"  said  Winifred. 

"  Well,  sweetheart,  it  is  a  comfort  that  He  does 
know  best,  and  will  go  on  in  His  own  way,  what- 
ever we  poor  mortals  may  think  of  His  doings. 
But  now  you  must  go  up  to  my  lady,  and  while  you 
are  gone,  I  will  put  a  few  stitches  just  to  help  you 
along  and  give  you  something  to  look  at  for  a 
guide." 

Winifred  found  Lady  Peckham  in  her  dressing- 
room,  which  was  all  in  a  litter  with  mails  and  boxes. 
Lady  Peckham  was  seated  at  her  cabinet,  looking 
over  and  destroying  letters  and  papers.  As  Wini- 
fred looked  around  the  usually  pleasant  and  orderly 
apartment,  as  she  remembered  the  delightful  hours 
he  had  spent  there,  and  thought  how  soon  it  would 
be  shut  up  and  deserted,  the  tears  swelled  to  her 
eyes  again,  and  she  wished,  with  Mrs.  Alwright, 
that  there  were  no  such  place  as  London  in  the- 
whole  world! 

"  Well,  Winifred,  I  suppose  you  have  heard  all 


168  WINIFRED. 

the  news  from  Mrs.  Alwright  ?"  said  Lady  Peck* 
bam,  kindly. 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

"I  have  a  message  for  you  from  my  brother," 
gaid  Lady  Peckham,  taking  a  letter  from  her  pocket, 
«  Ho  says,  «  Tell  my  little  Winifred  that  I  think  of 
her,  and  I  hope  she  remembers  me,  at  least  in  her 
prayers.' " 

Winifred  felt  that  there  was  little  danger  of  her 
forgetting,  but  she  knew  that  she  should  break 
down  utterly  if  she  tried  to  speak,  so  she  courtesied, 
and  remained  silent. 

"  Come  hither  to  me,  Winifred,"  said  Lady  Peck- 
ham. 

Winifred  obeyed,  not  by  any  means  sure  that 
she  had  not  incurred  a  reproof  in  presuming  to 
shed  tears  before  such  a  great  lady.  She  was  mis- 
taken. 

"  My  poor  child !  My  dear,  faithful  little  friend  I" 
Baid  Lady  Peckham,  and  presently,  to  her  astonish- 
ment, Winifred  found  herself  drawn  into  my  lady's 
arms,  and  crying  on  her  shoulder  as  freely  as  if 
it  had  been  her  own  mother. 

"  You  are  very  dear  to  me,  Winifred,"  said  my 
lady,  presently,  in  a  low  voice.  "I  have  always 
been  fond  of  yon,  both  for  your  own  sake  and  that 


THE   BEGINNING   OF   CHANGES.  169 

ol  a  dear  friend  whom  you  much  resemble.  I  have 
envied  your  mother  the  possession  of  such  a  daugh- 
ter, but  the  events  of  the  last  few  weeks  have  made 
me  feel  toward  you  more  like  an  elder  sister." 

What  made  the  hot  blood  rush  into  Winifred's 
cheeks  at  these  words,  so  that  she  was  glad  to  have 
her  face  hidden  from  her  friend?  Perhaps  she 
could  not  have  told  if  she  had  been  asked. 

"I  would -gladly  take  you  with  me  to  London,  if 
it  were  possible,"  continued  Lady  Peckham.  "  I 
would  gladly  adopt  you  as  my  own,  but  I  should 
have  no  right  to  deprive  your  parents  of  such  a 
treasure.  God  has  appointed  to  each  of  us  His 
children  our  place,  where  we  have  His  special 
work  to  do,  and  if  in  our  impatience  or  self-in- 
dulgence we  strive  to  better  His  appointment,  He 
will  soon  show  us  our  mistake.  But,  Winifred,  if 
anything  should  happen  to  make  you  need  a  home, 
you  must  let  me  know." 

"  Will  you  never  come  back  to  the  Hall,  m^ 
lady?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,  my  child.  Not  for  a  long  time, 
I  fear.  Sir  Edward  has  received  an  appointment, 
as  you  have  doubtless  heard  from  Alwright,  and  so 
long  as  he  is  attached  to  the  court  we  must  re- 
main in  London.  I  confess  it  is  not  a  pleasant 

15 


170  WINIFRED. 

prospect  to  ine,  but  I  try  to  submit  and  to  believe 
that  it  will  be  for  the  best." 

"  It  is  hard  to  think  that  God  orders  everything 
for  the  best,"  Winifred  ventured  to  observe  ;  *'  but, 
my  lady,  I  think  it  would  be  still  harder  to  live  ii 
one  did  not  believe  it.  It  seems  the  only  comfort 
one  has  in  times  like  these." 

"  True,  sweetheart !  I  trust  you  may  never  find 
your  faith  more  severely  tried  than  now.  But  this 
is  a  world  of  great  and  sad  changes,  and  you  may 
live  to  look  hack  upon  the  present  as  a  very  small 
trial." 

Winifred  could  not  imagine  any  state  of  things 
in  which  the  present  trial  should  seem  small  to 
her.  She  was  soon  to  find  out  her  mistake. 

"  And  now,  Winifred,  I  wish  you  to  ask  a  favor 
for  me  of  your  good  mother,"  continued  Lady 
Peckham.  "I  wish  you  would  ask  her  to  allow 
you  to  remain  at  the  Hall  until  we  go  to  London. 
You  can  help  Mrs.  Alwright  a  great  deal,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  of  your  society." 

Winifred  looked  up  in  surprise.  The  news 
Beemed  too  good  to  be  true.  Should  she  really 
remain  a  whole  week  at  the  Hall — perhaps  longei 
—and  see  my  lady  every  day  ? 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  CHANGES.  171 

"Oh,  my  lady,  you  are  too  good!"  she  said, 
gratefully. 

Lady  Peckham  smiled  rather  sadly.  "I  am 
good  to  myself,  then,  my  dear.  I  am  not  at  all 
sure  that  1  am  conferring  any  favor  upon  you. 
But  you  may  tell  your  mother  that  I  shall  be  care- 
ful not  to  spoil  her  little  maiden." 

Dame  Magdalen  looked  rather  doubtfully  at  her 
husband  when  Winifred  preferred  Lady  Peckham's 
request,  after  her  return  home. 

"  I  should  be  loth  to  refuse  my  lady  anything, 
sweetheart,  so  kind  as  she  has  been  to  you  !  But 
to  let  you  stay  so  long  at  the  Hall — I  am  doubt- 
ful." 

"  My  lady  said  she  would  be  sure  not  to  spoil 
me,  mother,"  said  Winifred. 

"  She  will  not  mean  to  spoil  you,  I  know  very 
well.  My  lady  means  nothing  but  what  is  kind 
and  good  ;  but,  my  maid,  how  will  it  be  when  you 
return  home  again  ?  WTill  not  the  plain,  homely 
ways  and  life  at  the  farm,  and  the  every-day  work 
and  duties  of  your  station,  become  wearisome  to 
you  ?  My  lady  has  been  very  kind  in  noticing  and 
making  in  some  sort  a  companion  of  you  ;  but  you 
must  never  forget  that  you  are  a  plain  yeoman's 
daughter." 


172  WINIFRED. 

"I  "will  try  not  to  be  discontented,  mother," 
said  Winifred,  meekly.  "  I  know  what  my  place 
is,  and  I  am  thankful  that  I  have  so  good  and 
pleasant  a  home  as  this  ;  but,  mother  " — and  Win- 
ifred's voice  faltered — "  perhaps  I  shall  never  see 
my  dear  lady  again  !" 

"Let  her  go,  dame,  I  pray  you!"  said  Gilbert 
Evans,  stroking  his  daughter's  head.  "We  all 
owe  much  to  my  lady  for  her  care  of  the  child,  and 
she  will  learn  nothing  but  good  at  the  Hall,  though 
there  are  few  great  families  of  which  I  would  say 
as  much.  I  do  not  wonder  the  poor  lady  feels  the 
need  of  companionship.  Go  now,  and  bring  me 
my  pipe  and  box.  The  child  must  go  out  into  the 
world  some  day !"  he  added,  as  Winifred  left  the 
room.  "  We  cannot  always  keep  her  to  ourselves, 
and  she  is  learning  what  will  help  her  to  earn  her 
bread  if  ever  she  should  be  thrown  on  herself." 

"  Winifred  has  learned  a  great  deal,"  said  Mag- 
lalen.  "  Her  white  seam  and  cut- work  are  won- 
derful, and  she  can  do  the  twill  and  diaper  darning 
Btitches  better  than  I  could  in  my  best  days  ;  but 
yet  I  sometimes  fear  for  the  effect  of  ah1  these 
lessons.  Whom  is  the  girl  to  marry  ?" 

"  Perhaps  she  may  have  the  luck  to  catch  a  sailor 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  CHANGES.  173 

lad,  as  her  mother  did  before  her,"  s&id  Gilbert, 
laughing,  and  patting  his  wife's  still  fair  cheek. 
"Dost  remember  how  thy  fine  relations  turned 
'up  tLeir  noses  at  poor  Gilbert  Evans,  when  he 
canie  a-courting  Magdalen  Coffin,  whom  he  fished 
out  of  the  Catwater  when  the  pleasure-boat  was 
overset  ?"  *  What  does  that  sailor  fellow  want  with 
Madge  ?'  said  thy  cousin.  '  Give  him  a  crown  and 
a  draught  of  strong  water,  and  send  him  on  his 
way !' " 

"  Ah,  Gilbert,  it  is  not  every  orphan  and  depen- 
dent maid  who  has  the  luck  of  poor  Madge  Coffin 1" 
said  Magdalen,  smiling.  "  Winifred's  lot  is  likely 
to  be  the  opposite  of  mine.  My  proud  cousin 
brought  me  up  to  be  a  household  drudge — a  serv- 
ing-maid in  all  but  the  name.  But  even  let  the 
child  do  as  she  will !  She  is  a  good  girl,  and  has 
worked  hard  this  winter." 

So  it  was  settled,  and  Winifred  went  up  to  the 
Hah1  to  stay  for  the  two  weeks  that  should  elapse 
before  Lady  Peckham  went  to  London.  Busy 
weeks  they  were,  and  full  of  pleasant  employment, 
whether  she  worked  at  her  embroidery,  ran  up  and 
down  stairs  for  Mrs.  Alwright  and  helped  her  in 
the  still-room  and  kitchen,  where  she  learned  to 
make  biscuits,  and  almond  paste,  and  maukpane 
15* 


174  WINIFRED. 

and  saffron  cakes,  and  all  the  other  delicacies  for 
which  that  lady  was  famous,  or  whether  she  sat  or 
walked  with  my  lady  in  the  rapidly  lengthening 
twilight,  talking  of  the  things  they  both  loved,  or 
read  to  her  as  she  worked  in  her  own  chamber. 
Many  were  the  cabinet  drawers  and  boxes  she 
helped  to  rummage,  filled  with  all  the  accumula- 
tions of  generations  of  ladies  famous  for  needle- 
work and  all  such  accomplishments,  and  many 
were  the  precious  presents  she  received, — bits  of 
wonderful  brocades  and  ribbons  for  her  silk  patch- 
work (then  a  great  fashion,  as  it  was  a  few  years 
since),  of  ivory  and  tortoise-shell  tatting-shuttles 
and .  netting-boxes,  of  pin-cushions  and  needle- 
books,  of  embroidery  patterns  and  silks,  each  and 
all  accompanied  by  the  exhortation,  "  Take  care  of 
it,  child!  It  will  come  in  use  some  day." 

But  at  last  all  came  to  an  end.  The  day  of  final 
departure  arrived.  Winifred  bade  her  friends 
farewell,  and  stood  at  the  hall  door  till  the  clumsy 
coach  with  its  six  horses  and  outriders  (not  for 
show,  but  use, )  drove  down  the  lor  g  avenue  and 
disappeared.  Then,  feeling  as  though  a  part  of  her 
life  had  gone  away  with  it,  she  dried  her  eyes,  and 
turned  back  into  the  house  to  finish  lip  some  last 
things  which  had  been  left  to  her  care. 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  CHANGES.  175 

Later  in  the  day,  Winifred  walked  homeward, 
followed  by  the  herd-boy  bearing  her  bundles,  but 
carrying  herself,  as  too  precious  to  intrust  to 
another,  her  chief  treasures — Hall's  "  Chronicle," 
some  books  of  devotion  my  lady  had  given  her, 
and  the  "Arcadia"  of  Sir  Thilip  Sidney;  "the 
only  romance,"  said  Mrs.  Alwright,  "fit  for  a 
young  maiden  to  read."  At  the  turn  of  the  avenue, 
she  stopped  and  looked  back.  There  stood  the 
old  Hall,  in  all  its  quaint  beauty,  under  the  light 
of  the  spring  sunshine,  but  all  the  windows  were 
closed,  and  Winifred  thought  it  already  looked 
desolate  and  forlorn.  She  gazed  a  long  time,  till 
her  eyes  grew  too  full  to  see  any  longer. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  as  at  last  she  turned  away, 
"  I  have  at  least  one  comfort !  No  one  can  ever 
take  from  me  the  remembrance  of  the  pleasant 
times  I  have  had  and  the  things  I  have  leari_ed  of 
my  lady  I" 


CHAPTER    XII. 


R  B  I  K  T  O  L  . 


HERF  is  that  child,  poring  over  her  book  again, 
wasting  her  precious  time  and  eyesight!  I 
declare  she  is  enough  to  try  a  saint !  After  all  I 
have  done  for  her !  I  have  a  great  mind  to  burn 
up  all  her  books  except  the  Bible,  that  I  have." 

Winifred  looked  up  wearily  as  these  words  were 
spoken.  She  had  grown  tall  and  pale  since  we 
last  saw  her  in  the  avenue  at  Holford  Hall,  and 
the  expression  of  her  face  wears  more  of  sadness, 
but  there  are  the  same  clear-cut  features,  tne 
same  large,  steadfast  gray  eyes  and  marked  eye- 
brows  which  first  attracted  Lady  Peckham's  at- 
tention to  the  child  in  the  Blue-school  at  Holford. 
But  the  window  where  she  now  sits  and  strains  her 
eight  to  catch  the  last  daylight  looks  not  into  the 
farm  closes,  but  into  such  a  narrow  lane  that  the 

'176) 


BiUSTOU  177 

opposite  neighbors  could  almost  shake  hands  across 
it.  For  Master  Simon  Evans  lives  near  the  water- 
side for  the  convenience  of  his  business  ;  and  even 
the  dog  carts  used  in  the  wider  streets  of  Bristol 
cannot  pass  each  other  in  Fish  Lane. 

Winifred  looked  up  wearily  as  the  shrill  voice  of 
reproach  sounded  over  her  head.  The  speaker 
was  a  sharp,  energetic-looking  woman,  who  seemed 
to  have  worked  off  every  inch  of  superfluous  flesh 
and  to  have  nothing  left  but  bone  and  muscle. 

"1  have  finished  all  the  sewing  you  laid  out, 
aunt,  and  I  have  carried  home  Mrs.  Bowler's  ker- 
chiefs, and  put  the  money  in  your  box.  The 
children  are  in  bed  and  asleep,  and  I  thought  I 
might  read  a  little  while." 

"  And  how  much  did  Mrs.  Bowler  pay  you,  child? 
She  ought  to  give  you  a  good  price." 

"  Forty  shillings  for  the  kerchiefs,  aunt,  and  ten 
for  the  apron." 

"Well,  well!  It  is  a  fair  price,  but  they  arc 
well  worth  every  farthing  of  it!"  said  Dame  Evans, 
slightly  mollified.  "  I  will  say  for  you  that  there 
is  not  a  person  in  Bristol  who  can  do  cut-work  ana 
satin-stitch  equal  to  yourself.  But  you  mignt  have 
taken  your  knitting,  child,  if  you  had  nothing  else 
to  do.  Beading  is  nothing  but  a  waste  of  time 


178  WINIFRED. 

for  folks  like  us,  except  upon  Sundays  and  holidays, 
when  we  can  do  nothing  else." 

"And,  aunt,  I  saw  Lady  Corbet  at  Mrs.  Bowler's, 
and  she  wishes  me  to  come  to  her  house  every  day 
to  teach  her  daughters  and  oversee  their  work.  I 
am  to  take  my  meals  with  the  young  ladies  and 
walk  out  with  them,  and  she  will  give  me  ten 
shillings  a  week.  I  am  to  begin  to-morrow  if  you 
are  willing." 

"Laws  me!"  exclaimed  Dame  Evans,  quite  daz- 
zled at  the  prospect  of  such  an  honor.  "  What  a 
fine  thing  for  you!  Why,  they  are  the  richest 
people  in  Bristol.  Sir  John  entertained  his  late 
blessed  majesty  when  he  visited  the  city,  and  was 
knighted  on  that  occasion.  I  have  heard  my  Lady 
Corbet  was  cousin  to  old  Lord  Carew." 

Winifred's  heart  gave  a  bound  at  this  news. 
Might  she  not,  through  Lady  Corbet,  obtain  some 
news  of  Lady  Peckham  and  Arthur  ?  It  was  nearly 
three  years  since  she  had  heard  anything  of  Arthur, 
but  she  had  never  once  forgotten  to  pray  for  him, 
night  and  morning. 

"  You  are  willing  to  have  me  go  then,  aunt  ?" 

"  What  does  the  child  mean  ?  Willing  indeed ! 
Sou  ought  to  be  thankful  on  your  knees  for  such 
an  honor,  and  you  talk  about  being  willing,  as 


BRISTOL.  179 

though  /ou  had  asked  leave  to  go  to  the  fair!  I 
am  only  afraid  you  will  not  know  how  to  behave 
properly  .with  such  grand  ladies,  having  lived  in 
the  couutry  all  your  life.  Yes,  of  course  I  am 
willing,  oaly  be  careful  of  your  manners,  and  be 
sure  you  say  'my  lady'  every  time  you  speak  to 
her." 

Winifred  smiled  rather  sadly.  She  had  not 
many  fears  upon  the  score  of  manners.  She  had 
been  used  to  intercourse  with  a  much  greater  lady 
than  Lady  Corbet,  the  wife  of  a  Bristol  sugar- 
refiner  ;  but  she  was  glad  of  the  employment,  as 
well  as  of  the  prospect  of  some  change  in  her  mo- 
notonous and  dreary  life.  She  had  entertained 
serious  thoughts  of  setting  up  a  little  school  of  her 
own,  and  here  was  the  work  ready  provided  for 
her. 

The  last  two  years  had  brought  many  sad  re- 
verses to  Winifred  Evans.  The  removal  of  Lady 
Peckham  to  London  had  been  the  first  of  a  series 
of  changes  which  had  ended  by  bringing  her  into 
the  little  brick-paved  kitchen  in  Fish  Lane  where 
we  now  find  her.  But  a  few  months  after  Gilbert 
Evans  sailed,  taking  with  him  his  son,  came  news 
of  the  total  loss  of  the  ship  and  crew.  Master 
Evans,  who  had  been  for  some  time  in  declining 


180  WINIFRED. 

health,  had  a  paralytic  stroke  upon  hearing  the 
news,  and  lingered  on  a  helpless  and  apparently 
senseless  invalid  till  the  next  year.  Then  came 
one  of  the  devastating  epidemics  of  that  period; 
sweeping  over  Bridgewater  and  all  the  towns  in  the 
neighborhood.  The  feeble  old  man  and  Dame 
Magdalen,  worn  out  with  care  and  sorrow,  were 
among  the  first  victims,  and  Winifred  was  left  with 
nobody  to  depend  upon  but  her  uncle  and  aunt  in 
Bristol,  whom  she  had  seldom  seen,  and  Lady 
Peckham,  who  was  far  away  in  London — and 
London,  so  far  as  communication  was  concerned, 
was  as  far  from  Bristol  in  that  day  as  it  is  now 
from  New  Zealand.  She  wrote  at  once  to  my  lady, 
sending  the  letter  by  one  of  the  grooms  at  the 
Hall  who  was  going  up  to  town,  and  waited 
anxiously  for  an  answer,  but  none  came  ;  and  at 
last  the  news  arrive'd  at  the  Hall  that  Sir  Edward 
had  gone  abroad,  taking  his  family  with  him  !  Here 
was  a  death-blow  to  all  Winifred's  hopes  !  She  had 
nothing  left  to  do  but  to  return  to  Bristol  with  her 
uncle  and  aunt  and  share  their  home,  at  least  till 
some  prospect  appeared  of  independent  occupation. 
Dame  Evans  was  on  the  whole  a  well-meaning 
woman,  but  like  some  other  well-meaning  persons, 
very  intolerable  to  live  with.  Housekeeping  was 


BRISTOL.  181 

her  idol.  She  cared  for  nothing  in  the  \vorld  but 
scouring  and  cleaning,  cooking  and  washing,  spin- 
ning, sewing,  and  knitting.  In  her  mind  a  house 
was  not  a  place  to  live  and  be  happy  in,  but  some- 
thing whose  use  was  to  be  kept  clean  ;  to  have  the 
bricks  scoured,  the  woodwork  waxed  and  rubbed 
and  polished  endlessly,  the  windows  brightened, 
and  the  flies  driven  out.  Comfort  and  shelter  were 
secondary  objects.  Clothes  were  made  to  be 
mended  and  kept  clean  ;  and  as  to  books,  they 
had,  according  to  Dame  Margery,  "  no  use  in  the 
'varsal  world  but  to  waste  people's  precious  time 
and  keep  them  from  their  duties."  Dame  Margery 
was  a  steady  keeper  at  home  on  week-days,  and  a 
regular  church-goer  on  Sundays  ;  she  never  went 
to  revels  or  merry-makings,  or  allowed  her  family 
to  do  so,  and  she  would  have  been  both  surprised 
and  indignant  if  any  one  had  told  her  that  she  was 
as  much  wedded  to  the  things  of  this  world  as  her 
neighbor  the  goldsmith's  wife,  whose  gay  gowns 
and  frequent  parties  were  the  talk  of  the  whole 
street  ;  and  that  it  was  as  frivolous  and  belittling 
to  set  her  heart  upon  pewter  tankards  and  fine 
linen  as  upon  flounces  and  lace.  It  did  not  occur 
to  her  to  think  that  drawers  and  cupboards,  kit- 
chen floors  and  parlor  windows,  trenchers  and 

if; 


182  WINIFltED, 

napkins,  were  as  much  earthly  and  transitory  in 
their  nature  as  fairs  and  revels.  Simon  Evans 
was  a  master- workman  and  well  to  do  in  the  world  ; 
L>ut  Dame  Margery  saved  every  penny  and  every 
candle-end  as  carefully  as  she  had  done  when  he 
was  living  upon  the  wages  of  a  journeyman.  She 
allowed  her  family  no  better  food,  and  had  no 

more  to  give  away.     If  people  were  poor,  it  was 

• 
their  own  fault.     She  was  not  poor — why   could 

not  they  do  as  she  had  done  ?  The  question, 
"  Who  maketh  thee  to  differ  ?"  was  one  which  did 
not  occur  to  her. 

It  may  be  guessed  that  Winifred  and  her  aunt 
<Jid  not  suit  each  other  very  well.  Dame  Evans 
declared  that  the  girl  had  been  utterly  spoiled  by 
poor  sister  Magdalen,  who  was  nothing  better  than 
a  dreamer  herself,  for  all  her  gentle  blood,  and 
congratulated  the  child  on  at  last  getting  into 
hands  that  would  give  her  some  training  and  teach 
her  something  useful.  The  training  consisted  in 
toiling  from  morning  till  night  to  clean  what  had 
just  been  washed  and  to  wash  what  was  already 
clean  ;  in  making  garments  which  when  done  were 
too  good  to  be  worn,  and  in  being  reminded  every 
day  and  all  day  long  of  her  own  deficiencies,  and 


BRISTOL.  183 

of  die  goodness  of  her  uncle  and  aunt  in  taking 
upon  themselves  such  a  burden. 

Winifred  could  not  bring  herself  to  feel  that  she 
was  a  burden.  She  was  well  aware  that  she  did  as 
much  work  as  had  ever  been  expected  of  Priscilla 
at  the  farm,  and  since  she  had  found  fine  needle- 
work and  embroidery  to  do,  she  had  earned  more 
than  enough  money  for  her  own  support.  More- 
over she  had  taught  the  two  girls  to  read  and 
write  since  she  came  to  Bristol,  rather,  it  must  be 
confessed,  against  the  will  of  their  mother,  who 
complained  that  Winnie  would  make  Betsey  and 
Sally  as  idle  and  dreaming  as  herself.  But  here, 
for  once,  Simon  Evans  exerted  his  authority,  and 
when  he  did,  even  Dame  Margery  had  no  choice 
but  to  submit. 

These  were  dreary  days  to  Winifred.  The 
change  was  great  from  the  open,  breezy  field  and 
heath,  and  the  stately  avenues  and  lovely  gardens 
cf  the  Hall,  to  the  narrow  alley  where  she  now 
lived.  There  was  not  a  green  thing  to  be  seen 
except  from  one  window  in  the  attic,  where  she 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  some  distant  tree-tops  ; 
and  at  these  tree-tops  Winifred  could  gladly  have 
gazed  for  hours  if  she  would  have  been  allowed. 
But  it  was  hard  for  her  tu  find  time  even  to  think, 


184  WINIFRED. 

since  Dame  Margery's  voice  kept  up  an  incessant 
patter  of  small  complaints  and  fault-findings, 
email  remarks  and  smaller  gossip,  for,  although  she 
seldom  went  out,  she  contrived  to  pick  up  all  the 
news  of  the  town.  Her  very  voice  grated  on  Wini- 
fred's ears.  She  never  spoke  in  a  pleasant  or 
cheerful  tone,  and  a  stranger  hearing  her  in  an- 
other room  would  be  sure  to  think  she  was  either 
whining  or  b-colding  ;  while  at  the  least  annoyance 
she  took  on  a  tone  and  expression  of  suffering 
martyrdom.  Koauing  was  out  of  the  question,  save 
by  fits  and  snatches,  or  on  Sundays,  when  she  was 
not  engaged  in  eookiug  the  Sunday  dinner,  or 
keeping  the  little  ones  quiet,  while  their  mothei 
nodded  over  her  Bible,  under  the  idea  that  she 
was  performing  a  pious  duty. 

It  was  a  great  relief  when  Winifred  found  fine 
sewing  and  embroidery  enough  to  occupy  her 
hands  for  some  hours  of  every  day.  The  close 
attention  which  this  work  required  was  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  not  talking,  and  she  was  learning  bj 
degrees  to  listen  to  her  aunt's  voice  as  one  lisiens 
to  the  working  of  machinery  or  the  patter  of  the 
rain — as  a  disagreeable  noise  which  cannot  be 
helped.  As  she  worked  at  the  oimslm  apron  oj 
the  lace  whisk  which  occupied  lisr  handc  an^  eyes, 


15HISTOL.  185 

her  thoughts  were  comparatively  free,  ana  they 
wandered  backward  over  the  past — her  pleasant 
life  at  the  farm,  the  hours  spent  at  the  Hall  or  with 
good  Dame  Sprat,  now  enjoying  that  Heavenly 
Inheritance  to  which  she  had  so  steadily  looked 
forward  during  her  long  and  troubled  life.  She 
called  to  mind  her  last  precious  conversations  with 
Lady  Peckham,  and  the  dying  words  of  her 
mother  :  "  Winifred,  lay  hold  on  eternal  life. 
Whatever  may  be  your  lot  here,  never  give  up 
your  title  to  your  Heavenly  Inheritance.  Re- 
member always  how  He  hath  said,  (I  will  never 
leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee  :'  and  there  is  no 
change  in  His  goodness.  I  leave  you  in  His  hands 
who  never  yet  failed  them  that  sought  Him."*' 

This  was  Winifred's  only  stay,  her  one  source  of 
courage  and  comfort.  Severe  as  was  the  change, 
heavy  as  were  her  bereavements,  weary  and  dull  as 
was  her  daily  toil,  fretting  as  were  her  daily  trials, 
it  was  her  Heavenly  Father  who  sent  or  who 
allowed  it  all,  and  therefore  all  must  be  for  her 
good  in  the  end,  though  it  might  be  a  long  time 
first.  She  was  sure  that  there  was  waiting  for  her 
a  lovely,  peaceful  home,  filled  with  all  those  beau- 
tiful things  which  she  loved,  and  many,  many 
others,  far  beyond  anything  she  had  seen  or  could 
16* 


186  WIN1F11ED. 

conceive —a  home  where  all  her  dear  ones  were 
waiting  for  her  or  would  come  at  last,  and  where 
there  would  be  no  more  parting  forever.  "This 
inheritance  was  hers — prepared  for  her  by  her 
Heavenly  Father,  sealed  and  made  sure  by  her 
Saviour's  death  and  resurrection.  It  was  to  be  hers 
at  last,  however  long  she  might  have  to  wait,  and 
it  might  be  hers  any  day.  She  might  go  to  bed 
any  night  in  her  little  close  bedroom,  and  awake 
amid  the  unspeakable  splendors  of  heaven. 

Such  thoughts  gave  Winifred  courage  to  live 
from  day  to  day,  making  no  plans,  never  looking 
forward,  but  leaving  all  in  better  hands  than  her 
own.  They  were  no  longer  beautiful  dreams,  as  in 
the  days  when  she  walked  over  the  heath  or  up  to 
the  Hall.  They  alone  were  the  living  realities, 
and  all  the  rest  was  but  a  dream — a  weary,  trouble- 
some dream,  which  would  pass  away  in  the  morn- 
ing. She  was  careful  to  give  no  just  cause  of 
offence,  and  when  she  was  blamed  unjustly,  she 
tried  to  accept  it  in  the  spirit  of  meekness,  "  know- 
ing that  the  trial  of  our  faith  worketh  patience, 
and  patience  experience,  and  experience  hope,  and 
hope  maketh  not  ashamed." 

It  was  with  a  thankful  heart  that  Winifred 
dressed  herself  next  day  for  her  first  lesson  at  Lady 


BRISTOL.  187 

Corbet's.  She  thought  it  likely  that  she  might 
meet  with  some  disagreeable  things.  Lady  Corbet 
evidently  had  a  great  idea  of  her  own  consequence, 
and  seemed  to  think  she  was  conferring  a  favor  on 
Winifred  by  allowing  her  to  teach  her  daughters. 
It  was  very  likeiy  also  tnat  tne  young  ladies  might 
be  proud  and  consequential.  But  at  all  events  it 
was  a  change.  Sir  John  Corbet  lived  in  the  best 
part  of  the  city,  on  one  of  the  hills  upon  which 
Bristol  is  built.  He  had  a  fine  house  and  also  a 
garden,  and  the  very  thought  of  seeing  green  and 
growing  plants  was  pleasant  to  one  who  had  been 
shut  away  from  them  so  long. 

"  How  pretty  Cousin  Winnie  looks !"  said  Betsey, 
gazing  after  her  cousin  as  she  tripped  down  the 
lane  with  something  of  her  old  elastic  step. 

"  Beauty  is  nothing,  child !"  said  her  mother, 
though  she  herself  was  thinking  at  that  moment 
{hat  Winifred  was  a  very  creditable  young  person 
to  have  passing  in  and  out  of  the  house.  "  Good 
looks  are  onlj  skin  deep !  Handsome  is  that  hand- 
some doesl" 

*  Then  I  tl}ink  Winifred  is  the  handsomest  per- 
Bon  I  know !"  returned  sturdy  little  Betsey  ;  "  for 
I  am  sure  she  is  the  very  best." 


CHAPTER  xw. 


THE     CITY     KNTGHT    S     FAMILY. 

BRISTOL,  at  the  time  of  our  story,  was  the 
second  city  in  England,  and  was  famous  for 
its  wealth  and  luxury,  for  its  West  India  trade  and 
its  sugar  refineries,  and,  alas !  also  for  the  infamous 
slave-trade  of  which  it  was  the  centre,  and  which 
dealt  in  white  skins  as  well  as  black  ones,  which 
not  only  brought  in  negroes,  but  carried  out  white 
boys  and  girls,  stolen  in  the  streets  sometimes, 
never  to  be  heard  of  again.  It  contained  some 
splendid  churches  and  several  ancient  endowed 
schools  and  hospitals  ;  but  the  streets  were  so 
narrow  that  no  carts  were  used  save  those  drawn 
with  dogs,  and  there  was  hardly  a  coach  in  tbe 
whole  city,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  was  no 
place  in  which  to  use  one. 

Winifred  found  Lady  Corbet  in  her  own  private 

088) 


THE  CITY  KNIGHT'S  FAMILY.  189 

sitting-room,  and  was  reminded  at  once  of  Mrs. 
Alwright,  not  only  by  the  basket  of  linen  piled  up 
to  be  darned  and  the  huge  bunch  of  keys  in  its 
little  basket  on  the  table,  but  even  by  something 
in  the  lady's  manner  of  handling  her  needle  and 
scissors. 

"  Ah !  so  you  have  come  betimes,  Mrs.  Evans !" 
was  her  greeting.  "  I  am  truly  glad  to  see  you  I 
My  girls  are  losing  their  time  and  running  wild  for 
want  of  something  to  do.  I  have  no  time  to  teach 
them  myself,  and  my  last  governess  has  just  mar- 
ried Sir  John's  managing  clerk — and  a  good  match 
for  her  too,  poor  thing,  for  she  was  an  orphan,  and 
Mr.  Thomas  Green  is  a  good,  kind,  and  steady 
man,  though  perhaps  a  thought  elderly.  And 
what  can  you  teach,  child — anything  besides  tapes- 
try and  cut-work  ?  I  suppose,  for  instance,  you 
don't  know  anything  about  figures  ?" 

"Yes,  madam,"  replied  Winifred — she  could  not 
biing  herself  to  say  niy  lady — "  I  know  how  to 
cast  accounts,  and  how  to  keep  a  household  book." 

"Dear  me,  how  glad  I  am!"  exclaimed  Lady 
Corbet,  relaxing  a  little  from  the  stateliness  with 
which  she  had  met  Winifred,  and  which  did  not 
fieem  in  the  least  natural  to  her.  "Then  I  am 
sure  you  will  help  me  now  and  then,  won't  you  ? 


190  WINIFRED. 

Sir  John  he  insists  that  I  shall  keep  an  account  of 
all  the  expenses  of  the  house  ;  but  what  is  the  use, 
when  I  never  can  make  my  sums  come  out  twice 
alike  ?" 

Winifred  professed  her  willingness  to  render 
any  assistance  which  might  be  needed. 

"  Well,  that  is  kind  of  you.  You  see,  in  such  a 
great  household  as  this — for  Sir  John  he  will  have 
all  his  clerks  and  'prentices  live  in  the  family — there 
is  a  great  deal  going  out  all  the  time,  and  unless 
some  one  looks  after  things,  presently  everything  is 
at  sixes  and  sevens.  Now  I  cannot  make  up  my 
mind  to  do  like  my  cousin  Norton  the  alderman's 
wife — she  just  spends  and  spends,  and  seems  to 
know  no  more  what  it  costs  to  live  than  my  Betty. 
I  cannot  think  that  is  right,  somehow.  It  seems 
as  if  one  ought  to  give  an  account  of  one's  steward- 
ship, don't  you  think  so,  sweetheart  ?"  asked  Lady 
Corbet,  who  seemed  quite  delighted -at  having 
some  one  to  whom  she  could  talk  freely. 

"  I  do,  indeed,  madam  !"  replied  Winifred,  feel- 
ing her  heart  warm  toward  the  bustling  lady,  whom 
she  had  at  first  thought  she  never  could  like.  "  I 
shah1  be  glad  to  give  you  help  about  accounts  or  any 
other  matter.  Mrs.  Alwright  taught  me  a  good  deal 
about  housekeeping  when  I  used  to  go  to  the  Hall." 


THE  CITY  KNIGHT'S  FAMILY.  191 

"Mrs.  Alwright!"  exclaimed  Lady  Corbet. 
"  Dear  me,  child,  you  don't  surely  mean  Hannah 
AJwright — she  that  was  brought  up  by  my  old  Lady 
Carew,  and  afterward  went  to  Jive  with  her  daugh- 
ter, Lady  Peckham  at  Holford  Hall  ?" 

"  The  same,  madam,"  replied  Winifred,  her  heart 
beating  fast.  "  My  lady  was  the  kindest  friend  I 
ever  had  ;  and  I  used  to  go  to  Mrs.  Alwright  two 
or  three  times  a  week  to  learn  fine  work  and  other 
things,  and  I  stayed  at  the  Hall  for  two  weeks  be- 
fore my  lady  went  away  to  London." 

"Laws  me!  Do  you  know,  my  dear" — Lady 
Corbet's  dignity  had  dissolved  into  thin  air  by  this 
time — "  I  thought  of  Cousin  Margaret  the  moment 
I  saw  you  at  Mistress  Bowler's  the  other  day! 
Not  that  you  look  like  her,  either,  but  you  have 
something  in  your  manner — and  do  you  know  any- 
thing of  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Evans  ?" 

"Indeed  I  do  not,  madam,"  said  Winifred,  sadly. 
"  I  hoped  I  might  hear  news  of  her  from  you." 

"And  1  wish  I  had  it  for  you,  with  all  my  heart!" 
returned  Lady  Corbet.  "  But  it  is  long  since  I 
have  had  anything  to  do  with  the  family.  You  see 
I  am  related  to  the  Carews  by  my  mother's  side, 
and  my  old  lady,  she  would  have  me  to  live  with 
her  after  my  parents  died  It  was  good  in  her,  no 


192  WINIFRED. 

doubt,  but  we  did  not  get  en  well.  My  lady  must 
needs  have  everything  in  her  own  way,  and  she  set 
out  to  break  cif  my  match  with  John  Corbet,  though 
I  had  been  betrothed  to  him  in  my  parents'  Ufa 
time,  and  with  their  consent — and  to  marry  me  to 
Mr.  Hervey,  a  cousin  of  her  own,  and  a  much 
grander  match,  to  be  sure,  as  things  were  then, 
than  my  poor  John  Corbet.  But  though  I  approve 
of  young  folks  being  guided  by  their  elders  in  all 
such  matters,  I  would  not  give  up  my  poor  John 
for  any  Mr.  Ilervey,  so  there  was  a  breach  directly. 
My  cousin  Margaret  took  my  part,  though  she 
dared  not  say  a  great  deal,  for  every  one  in  the 
house  stood  in  awe  of  my  lady.  However,  married 
I  was,  and  my  lady  would  never  see  me  afterward. 
And  how  v/as  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Evans?  Did  not 
poor  Arthur's  death  break  her  down  very  much  ? 
Why,  my  dear,  how  white  you  are !  Is  the  room 
too  warm  for  you  ?" 

"  I  walked  fast,"  said  Winifred,  recovering  her- 
self by  a  violent  effort,  though  she  felt  stunned  and 
giddy. 

<J  Yes,  I  dare  say,  and  you  are  not  used  to  the 
crowded  streets.  Here,  take  my  smelling-}  >ott]e. 
Yes,  poor  Arthur  died  five  or  six  years  ago,  so<  >n 
after  he  went  abroad,  and  a  pity  it  was.  for  he  \* as 


THE  CITY  KNIGHT'S  FAMILY.  193 

a  likely  youth,  and  they  say  the  present  lord  will 
never  do  any  good.  Well,  my  dear,  your  color  has 
come  back,  sure  enough  ;  so  if  you  are  ready  we 
will  go  see  my  girls.  Just  let  me  lay  out  the  clean 
towels  and  napkins  for  the  maids." 

Winifred  had  time  to  recover  the  calmness  which 
had  beeii  so  sorely  shaken,  while  Lady  Corbet 
bustled  about,  arranging  the  linen.  She  under- 
stood at  once  that  the  first  report  of  Arthur's  death 
was  the  one  to  which  Lady  Corbet  referred.  She 
was  conscious  of  a  mingled  feeling  of  relief  and  in- 
tense disappointment.  She  could  not  feel  that  no 
news  was  good  news,  but  at  least  it  was  not  bad 
news.  She  was  quite  her  usual  self  when  Lady 
Corbet  announced  that  she  was  ready  to  go  up- 
stairs. The  school-room  was  in  the  upper  floor 
of  a  wing  built  out  into  the  garden,  and  as  they 
opened  the  green  baize  door  which  separated  it 
from  the  rest  of  the  house,  their  ears  were  met  by 
the  sound  of  passionate  crying. 

"Ah,  my  poor  Betty!"  said  Lady  Corbet.  "1 
do  hope,  my  dear  Mrs.  Evans,  you  will  be  able  to 
prevent  that  child's  sisters  from  teasing  her  life 
out.  They  dare  not  do  so  before  me  or  their 
father,  but  so  sure  as  she  is  left  alone  with  them 
there  is  such  a  time !  Hevdav !  what  does  this 


194  WINIFRED. 

mean  ?"  slie  exclaimed,  as  she  opened  tlie  door. 
"  Betty,  what  are  vou  doing  there  I" 

The  scene  partly  explained  itself.  A  pale  little 
girl  of  nine  years  or  thereabout  was  perched  very 
insecurely,  as  it  seemed,  on  the  top  of  a  high  cab- 
inet or  chest  of  drawers.  She  had  evidently 
c1imbed  to  her  elevation  by  means  of  a  stool  placed 
upon  a  table,  but  the  table  had  been  pushed  away, 
and  she  had  no  means  of  descending  ;  while  her 
two  sisters,  twins  of  fourteen,  stood  laughing  at 
her  discomfiture.  A  third  girl,  some  two  or  three 
years  older,  sat  reading  in  a  window,  with  rather  an 
elaborate  appearance  of  taking  no  notice  of  the 
others. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  asked  Lady  Corbet 
again,  helping  the  child  down  from  her  dangerous 
position.  "  What  have  you  been  about  ?" 

"  Tern  threw  my  doll  up  there  on  the  cabinet/ 
sobbed  Betty,  "  and  when  I  climbed  up  to  get  it 
they  took  away  the  table !  And  they  said,"  con- 
tinued Betty,  clinging  to  her  mother,  and  pointing 
to  a  cupboard  high  up  in  the  wall,  "  th#y  said 
there  was  a  skeleton  in  there ! 

"  Nonsense !"  returned  Lady  Corbet,  sharply. 
"  There  is  nothing  whatever  in  the  cupboard.  Are 
you  not  ashamed,  girls,  to  treat  your  poor  sister 


TEL  CITY  KNIGHT'S  FAMILY.  lrJ5 

BO?  Here  is  Mrs.  Evans,  youi  m,w  governess, 
wordering  at  your  bad  niamiers!" 

To  do  them  justice,  the  girls  did  look  heartily 
ashamed. 

"I  must  say,  Paulina,  I  think  you  might  uce 
your  influence  to  prevent  such  tricks,"  said  her 
mother,  severely,  turning  to  the  young  lady  in  the 
window,  who  had  not  moved.  "  At  least,"  sha 
added,  sharply,  "  you  might  rise  to  your  feet  when 
your  mother  and  your  governess  enter  the  room !" 

Paulina  rose  with  the  air  of  a  martyr. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam !"  said  she,  in  ti 
mournful  voice.  "  I  am  so  used  to  noise  and  con- 
fusion that  a  little  more  or  less  does  not  attract 
my  attention." 

"  She  is  just  as  bad  as  the  rest,  only  she  is  slye* 
about  it !"  cried  the  little  girl.  "  I  hate  them  all, 
that  I  do,  and  I  wish  I  was  dead — so !" 

Paulina  darted  a  glance  at  her  sister  which  wa*j 
anything  but  amiable,  and  then  casting  her  eyes 
on  the  floor,  she  stood  in  silence. 

"  Hush !  hush !  let  me  hear  not  one  word  more, 
or  nobody  wiU  have  anything  bit  bread  and  watei 
till  supper  time!"  said  Lady  Corbet,  decidedly. 
"  This  is  your  new  governess,  Mrs.  Winifred  Evans^ 
who  has  been  brought  up  by  my  cousin  the  Ladv 


196  WINIFRED. 

Peckham,  and  is  doubtless  well  qualified  to  teach 
you  all  you  should  know.  She  will  remain  with 
you  from  eight  in  the  morning  till  six  at  night — 
were  not  those  the  hours  we  agreed  upon}  Mrs, 
Evans  ? — and  you  will  obey  her  as  you  would  your 
father  and  mother.  Let  me  hear  no  complaints  of 
any  of  you,  from  oldest  to  youngest  —  do  you 
hear?" 

The  young  ladies  courtesied  demurely.  Paulina 
lifted  her  heavy  eyelids,  and  looked  first  at  the  new- 
comer and  then  at  her  mother. 

"Do  I  understand  you,  madam,  to  include  me 
in  the  list  of  Mrs.  Evans '  pupils  ?"  she  asked. 

"Of  course!"  said  her  mother,  sharply,  again 
"You  have  many  things  yet  to  learn,  mistress, 
though  you  think  yourself  so  wise.  Let  me  hear 
that  you  show  yourself  both  obedient  and  apt  to 
learn." 

Paulina  courtesied  again,  with  an  intensification 
of  the  martyr  expression. 

"You  will  teach  them  whatever  you  ttrnk  best, 
Mrs.  Evans.  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  you," 
said  Lady  Corbet,  turning  to  Winifred.  "Bat  I 
hope  you  will  be  particular  as  to  their  bekaviur, 
both  toward  each  other  and  toward  yourself,  and 
also  as  to  their  needlework,  which  is,  in  my  opinion, 


THE  CITY  KNIGHT'S  FAMILY.  197 

one  of  the  most  necessary  things  for  a  lady  to  un- 
derstand. Now,  let  me  hear  a  good  account  of 
you,  my  mistresses,  or  it  will  be  the  woise  for  you 
all!" 

There  were  a  few  minutes  of  bilence  after  Lady 
Corbet  left  the  room.  Paulina  had  returned  to 
hoi  book,  turning  her  back  ostentatiously  on  the 
company.  The  younger  girls  stood  as  if  uncertain 
what  to  do  next,  and  were  evidently  much  disposed 
to  giggle.  Winifred  saw  that  her  task  might  be  a 
somewhat  difficult  one,  and  she  determined  to  take 
it  in  hand  at  once. 

"  What  work  are  you  doing,  young  ladies  ?"  she 
asked,  in  the  calm,  clear  tones  which  always  com- 
mand attention.  "Let  me  see  your  frames.' 

Jemima  brought  her  own  and  her  sisters'  frames 
from  a  closet,  but  Paulina  made  no  movement. 

"I  will  attend  to  your  elder  sister  first,"  said 
Winifred.  "  Mrs.  Paulina,  let  me  see  your  work." 

There  was  a  slight  but  decided  emphasis  in  the 
tone,  which  made  Paulina  think  it  best  to  obey. 
She  threw  down  her  book,  unwillingly  enough,  and 
brought  her  tapestry  work  to  the  table.  It  was 
less  perfect  than  either  of  her  sisters,  and  was 
indeed  in  utter  confusion. 

"I  can  do  nothing  with  it!"  said  she,  pettishly. 
17* 


198  WINIFRED. 

"I  hate  the  sight  of  it!  Where  is  the  use  of  wast- 
ing so  much  precious  time  upon  needlework,  which 
is,  after  all,  of  no  use  to  any  one?" 

"Pall  only  says  so  because  she  cannot  work  as 
well  as  Phyllis  !"  said  Betty,  pertly. 

"You  should  not  speak  so  of  your  elder  sistor," 
Raid  Winifred,  gravely.  "  You  have  made  a  mis- 
take in  the  very  beginning  of  your  pattern,  Mrs. 
Paulina,  and  that  has  put  you  wrong  all  through. 
You  cannot  go  on  well  when  you  begin  wrong, 
whether  in  tapestry  work  or  anything  else." 

Paulina  seemed  interested  in  the  remark,  and 
her  brow  cleared  up  a  little. 

"I  understand  that,"  said  she,  "but  what  is  the 
use  of  beginning  at  all?  How  much  better  to 
discipline  one's  mind  and  heart  by  good  works 
and  acts  of  devotion  !" 

"  And  what  better  discipline  or  work  could  you 
find  than  that  of  obedience  to  your  parents?" 
asked  Winifred.  "That  is  the  discipline  God 
himself  has  prepared  for  you,  and  surely  it  is  more 
likely  to  be  beneficial  than  any  you  can  contrive  or 
arrange  for  yourself.  This  must  all  come  OTit, 
Paulina,  or  else  you  must  take  a  new  piece.  I 
should  advise  you  to  begin  anew  from  the  begin- 


THE  CITY  KNIGHT'S  FAMILY.  199 

mag,  for  I  fear  you  will  never  make  anything  of 
this." 

•'I  would  rather  try  taking  this  out,"  said 
Paulina,  the  martyr  expression  returning,  as  she 
sat  down  with  her  frame  in  her  old  place  by  the 
window.  "  I  don't  wish  to  choose  the  easiest  way, 
for  my  part !" 

Winifred  could  not  forbear  smiling.  Paulina 
saw  the  smile,  and  colored. 

"  Yes,  I  expect  to  be  laughed  at,"  said  she,  in  a 
tone  which  was  certainly  not  that  of  a  martyr. 
"  I  have  always  been  ridiculed  and  persecuted  ever 
since  I  began  to  try  to  lead  a  devout  life,  and  I 
always  expect  to  be,  but  I  mean  to  persevere,  for 
aU  that." 

Winifred  turned  to  the  work  of  the  other  girls, 
praised  what  they  had  done  well,  corrected  their 
mistakes,  and  finally,  having  set  them  all  down  to 
work,  proposed  that  she  should  read  or  relate  to 
them  a  tale  while  they  were  at  their  frames.  The 
proposition  was  received  with  great  favor  by  the 
younger  ones,  especially  by  Betty,  who  declared 
tii at  she  loved  nothing  so  much  as  a  tale, 

"  And  let  it  be  all  about  giants,  and  fairies,  and 
enchanted  castles,"  pleaded  Jemima. 

"  I  will  tell  you  plenty  of  such  tales  in  our  play- 


200  WINIFRED. 

hours,"  said  Winifred,  "  but  not  in  school-time. 
Let  me  see  if  I  cannot  make  a  true  story  as  in- 
teresting to  you  as  a  fairy  tale." 

She  then  began  the  touching  story  of  Richard 
Grenville's  death,  as  she  had  read  it  in  Hackhiyt's 
'  Voyages,"  and  was  glad  to  see  that  her  auditors 
were  capable  of  being  interested,  and  that  even 
Paulina,  who  had  begun  by  turning  her  back  upon 
the  company,  became  so  engaged  with  the  story  as 
to  forget  her  self-imposed  task  of  picking  out.  As 
the  clock  struck  eleven,  there  was  a  general  cry  of 
"Oh,  do  go  on!" 

"  Not  now,"  said  Winifred.  "  We  must  keep  to 
our  hours,  and  you  have  been  sitting  still  long 
enough.  Does  madam  your  mother  allow  you  to 
walk  in  the  garden  ?" 

"  She  will  let  us,  I  know,  if  you  go  with  us/* 
replied  Phyllis,  one  of  the  twins.  "  Shall  I  ask 
her  ?" 

"  If  you  please." 

Phyllis  skipped  away  and  presently  returned, 
followed  by  her  mother. 

"  What  is  this  about  walking  in  the  garden  ?:> 
asked  Lady  Corbet. 

Winifred  explained. 

"  O  yes,  they  may  go  if  you  like  to  go  with  them 


201 

and  keep  an  eye  upon  them.  But  perhaps  you  will 
not  care  to  do  that?" 

"  Indeed  I  shall,  madam.  I  have  not  been  in  a 
garden  since  I  used  to  gather  rose-leaves  in  that 
at  the  Hall." 

"  Ah,  but  you  must  not  expect  to  see  anything 
like  the  Hall  gardens  here,  my  dear.  My  cousin, 
Sir  Edward,  was  always  famous  for  his  taste  in 
gardening  and  the  like,  but  Sir  John  has  no  time 
for  such  matters.  Only  do  not  let  these  wild  girls 
meddle  with  fruit  or  flowers,  for  "their  father  will 
be  very  angry.  You  must  watch  them  well." 

The  garden  possessed  neither  the  extent  nor  the 
variety  of  that  at  Holford  Hall,  but  still  it  was  a 
garden,  and  it  was  with  a  sensation  of  exquisite 
delight  that  Winifred  found  herself  once  more 
among  flowers  and  shrubs,  and  the  familiar  odors 
of  lavender,  rosemary,  and  lilies.  Paulina  walked 
silently  at  her  side.  She  was  a  tall,  pretty  girl, 
and  would  have  been  attractive  but  for  the  air  of 
self-conscious  and  almost  sullen  constraint  which 
pervaded  her  whole  face  and  manner.  She  seemed 
like  a  person  who  was  trying  hard  to  sustain  an 
assumed  character,  and,  as  it  seemed,  with  very 
indifferent  success. 

"  Tell  nie   about  Lady  Peckham,"  said  she,  at 


202  WINIFRED. 

last,  abruptly.  "  My  mother  speaks  of  lier  as  if 
she  were  a  saint !  Was  she  really  so  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  saint,  Mrs.  Paulina?" 
asked  Winifred. 

Paulina's  ideas  did  not  seem  very  clear.  She 
thought  a  saint  was  one  who  observed  all  the 
hours  of  prayer,  and  took  the  sacraments  fre- 
quently, and  attended  on  the  poor  and  sick,  and 
gave  up  the  world  by  retiring  into  a  convent  or 
Bonie  such  place. 

"  And  is  that  all  ?"  asked  Winifred. 

"  Of  course,  a  saint  would  read  none  but  religious 
books,  and  wear  coarse  clothes  with  haircloth  next 
the  skin,  and  perhaps  lie  all  night  in  her  coffin  or 
upon  ashes,  and  do  many  penances." 

"  Mrs.  Paulina,  do  you  read  your  Bible  and 
Prayer-book?"  asked  Winifred. 

"Of  course,"  answered  Paulina,  indignantly. 
"  I  have  read  the  Bible  all  through  twice,  and  I 
know  the  daily  prayers  and  the  Litany  and  Com- 
munion Service  by  heart." 

"  Well,  will  you  tell  me  which  of  the  saints  of 
the  Bible  is  described  as  wearing  haircloth  next 
his  skin,  and  sleeping  in  his  coffin  upon  ashes?" 

Paulina  could  not  think  of  any  one. 

"Feeding  the  poor,  and  constant  prayer,  and 


THE  GUT  KNIGHT'S  FAMUA.  203 

such  like  are  all  well  in  their  way,  but  they  are 
not  enough  to  make  a  saint,"  continued  Winifred. 
"  St.  Paul  says  he  might  give  all  his  goods  to  feed 
the  poor,  and  give  his  body  to  be  burned,  yes,  an  3 
even  have  faith  so  that  he  could  remove  mountains, 
and  yet  all  these  things  might  profit  him  nothing." 

"  I  don't  see  what  will  make  a  saint,  then,"  said 
Paulina. 

"  Suppose  you  read  that  same  chapter  I  have 
quoted — the  thirteenth  of  First  Corinthians — and 
see  if  it  will  help  you." 

"  But  please  tell  me  about  Cousin  Margaret," 
said  Paulina. 

"I  will  at  another  time.  At  present  I  must 
see  to  your  sisters.  Come,  girls,  let  us  have  a  race 
from  end  to  end  of  this  green  alley,  and  see  if  it 
will  not  give  us  an  appetite  for  dinner." 

"  I  cannot  run,"  said  Betsey.  "  It  makes  my 
side  ache  and  my  heart  beat  so." 

"  Well,  then,  you  shall  be  judge.  Come,  now — 
start  fair!  One,  two,  three,  and  away!" 

This  was  a  new  idea — this  having  a  governess 
who  could  play  with  them.  When  they  were  out 
of  breath  with  exercise,  Winifred  showed  them 
how  to  make  larkspur  rings  and  whole  families  of 
dolls  out  of  foxgloves  and  the  small  green  berries 


204  WINIFRED. 

which  had  fallen  from  the  trees.  Never  had  a  play* 
hour  passed  so  pleasantly,  so  free  from  quarrel- 
ling and  fault-finding. 

"  "Well,  you  do  look  all  as  fresh  as  roses !"  said 
Lady  Corbet,  approvingly,  as,  with  shining  hair, 
neatly  arranged  dress,  and  rosy  cheeks,  the  young 
ladies  presented  themselves  before  her  at  dinner. 
"  Even  Betty  has  a  little  color  in  her  pale  face.  I 
am  sure,  Mrs.  Evans,  you  know  how  to  deal  with 
them,  and  I  shall  leave  them  entirely  to  you." 

The  afternoon  was  not  quite  as  pleasant  as  the 
morning.  There  was  an  examination  in  tables  and 
arithmetical  rules,  in  which  all  were  utterly  defi- 
cient— indeed,  arithmetic  was  not  a  common  ac- 
quirement in  those  days.  None  of  the  girls  except 
Paulina  could  read  intelligently,  and  Betty  scarcely 
at  all.  There  was  some  mortification  and  not  a 
few  tears  over  the  tasks  set  them,  and  Betty  de- 
clared she  could  not  learn  to  read — there  was  no 
use  in  trying.  However,  by  a  mixture  of  decision 
and  gentleness,  the  lessons  were  dragged  through 
al  last. 

"  That  was  very  well,  my  dear !"  said  Winifred, 
as  Phyllis  finished  her  recitation  of  the  penco 
table,  after  two  or  three  trials.  "  I  see  you  have 


THE  CITY  KNIGHT'S  FAMILY.  205 

taken   pains,  and  I  doubt  not  the  next  time  you 
will  have  it  quite  perfect." 

"How  can  you  say  so,  Mrs.  Evans?"  exclaimed 
Paulina,  who  had  appeared  quite  absorbed  in  the 
book  she  was  reading.  "  Phyllis  made  at  least 
three  mistakes,  ana  nositatea  at  all  the  questions, 
I  do  not  see  how  you  can  call  that  a  good  lesson. '* 

Phyllis'  smile  vanished,  and  she  cast  an  angrj 
glance  at  her  sister. 

"Just  like  you.  Grudging  a  morsel  of  praise 
to  any  one  but  yourself,"  she  muttered. 

"I  call  it  a  good  lesson,  because  Phyllis  has 
taken  pains  and  applied  herself,"  said  Winifred. 
'*  I  think  you  would  be  much  better  employed  in 
doing  so  than  in  watching  the  lessons  of  others 
for  whom  you  are  in  no  way  responsible.  Let  me 
request  that  I  may  have  no  more  such  interference 
from  any  of  you." 

Paulina  returned  to  her  book  with  her  cheeks 
flushed  scarlet,  nor  did  she  speak  again  during  th 
whole  afternoon. 


CHAPTER 


THE     BANQUET. 

FOK  some  weeks  all  went  on  smoothly  between 
Winifred  and  her  pupils.  The  needlework  was 
transferred  from  the  morning  to  the  afternoon, 
and  a  story  or  a  reading  was  the  reward  of  good 
behavior.  Phyllis  and  Jemima,  the  twins,  were 
easily  made  amenable  to  discipline.  Phyllis  was 
a  lively,  high-spirited  girl,  affectionate  and  truth- 
ful, taking  the  lead  in  study  and  play,  and  main- 
taining a  complete  ascendency  over  Jemima,  who 
was  slower  and  more  disposed  to  indolence,  but 
who  followed  her  sister's  lead  in  everything,  good 
and  bad. 

Winifred  found  the  most  difficulty  in  breaking 
up  the  habit  of  teasing  both  their  elder  and  younger 
sisters.  Paulina's  airs  of  superior  sanctity  and 
wisdom,  and  Betty's  passionate  temper,  offered  a 

C206) 


THE  BANQUET.  207 

fair  mark  for  their  girlish  wit.  Paulina  usually 
received  their  assaults  in  sullen  silence  and  con- 
tempt, while  a  very  little  sufficed  to  throw  Betty 
into  a  passion  of  rage,  in  which  she  was  like  a 
mad  creature  for  a  few  minutes,  and  afterwards 
perfectly  overwhelmed  with  penitence  and  grief. 
These  tempests  were  the  more  dangerous  as  the 
child's  health  was  very  delicate,  and  she  was  sub- 
ject to  alarming  swoons. 

With  Paulina,  Winifred  could  not  feel  that  she 
gained  any  ground.  At  first,  indeed,  Paulina  seemed 
much  interested  in  talking  about  Lady  Peckham 
and  her  ways,  though  she  was  evidently  unwilling 
to  allow  any  merit  to  a  style  of  piety  so  very 
different  from  her  own ;  and  many  were  the 
arguments  she  held  with  Winifred  upon  the  subject. 
All  at  once,  just  as  Winifred  seemed  to  be  getting 
upon  some  terms  of  intimacy  and  confidence  with 
her,  Paulina  froze  up  again  more  entirely  than  ever. 
She  would  not  speak  a  word  more  than  she  could 
help  on  religious  subjects,  or  any  other,  and  spent 
as  much  time  as  possible  in  her  own  room  ;  while 
her  fastings  and  penances  were  renewed  with  re- 
doubled ardor.  She  asked  and  obtained  permission 
to  attend  morning  prayers  at  the  cathedral — a  per- 
mission her  mother  granted  all  the  more  easily, 


208  WINIFRED. 

b*cau«e  ffa  John  Trelawny,  tlio  bishop,  was  noted 
as  &.  very  tedded  Protestant,  and  was  indeed  one  of 
th'B  seven  bishops  who  were  soon  afterwards  im- 
prisoned by  King  James.  Lady  Corbet  only 
uf  ipulated  that  her  daughter  should  always  be  ac- 
companied by  Molly,  one  of  the  maids,  who  was  a 
£Teat  favorite  both  with  her  and  Ashwell,  the  old 
housekeeper.  She  had  come  highly  recommended, 
und  was  a  well-mannered,  smooth-spoke1!  personage, 
professing  great  devotion  to  the  whole  family  and 
especially  to  Mrs.  Paulina.  Winifred  did  not  like 
Jier,  and  blamed  herself  for  entertaining  a  prejudice 
against  such  a  useful  and  harmless  person  ;  but 
ahe  could  not  get  rid  of  the  feeling  that  Molly  was 
somehow  playing  a  double  part.  As  Phyllis  said, 
she  always  looked  as  if  she  were  watching  every- 
thing and  everybody. 

To  judge  by  Paulina's  face  and  manner,  she 
found  little  comfort  in  her  church-going.  She 
grew  thin  and  pale  every  day,  and  often  appeared 
in  the  morning  with  her  eyes  swollen  as  if  she  had 
eried  all  night.  She  professed  to  read  a  great  deal 
in  her  own  room,  but  she  always  excused  herself, 
if  possible,  from  the  Bible  reading  with  which 
Winifred  began  the  morning  lessons,  and  indeed 
almost  always  cai>*<>  in  too  late  for  them,  while  her 


THE  BANQUET.  209 

preoccupation  told  visibly  upon  her  lessons,  in 
which  Phyllis  and  even  Jemima  threatened  to  out- 
strip her. 

"  I  shall  have  to  speak  to  your  mother,  unless 
you  take  more  pains  with  your  lessons,  Paulina," 
said  Winifred  to  her,  one  day,  after  the  children 
bad  left  the  room.  "  You  set  your  sisters  a  very 
bad  example.  What  can  they  think  of  the  effect  of 
your  religion,  when  they  see  you  growing  more 
careless  and  neglectful  of  your  duties  every  day  ? 
You  bring  dishonor  on  the  cause  itself." 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  said  Paulina.  "  I  have  some- 
thing more  important  to  think  about  than  tapestry 
work  and  tables." 

"  Your  matters  must  be  important  indeed,  if  they 
are  more  so  than  the  duty  imposed  upon  you  by 
God  Himself  of  obeying  and  honoring  your 
parents  !"  said  Winifred,  gravely.  "  You  are  cheat- 
ing and  deceiving  them  by  thus  wasting  your  time 
and  mine." 

Paulina  flushed  scarlet,  and  then,  bursting  into 
tears,  she  ran  out  of  the  room.  From  that  time 
she  was  more  careful  with  r.er  lessons,  but  the  cloud 
of  depression  grew  deeper  every  day,  and  Winifred 
began  to  be  seriously  uneasy,  and  to  debate  with 
herself  whether  she  ought  not  to  mention  the 
18* 


210  WINIFRED. 

matter  to  the  girlV  mother.  But  incidents  were 
soon  to  occur  whicb  would  render  any  such  expla- 
nation unnecessary,  and  which  put  an  end  forever 
to  all  poor  Betty's  school-room  troubles. 

"  Dear  me,  Mrs.  E-i  ans,  I  wonder  if  you  can  help 
me  upon  a  pinch  ?"  exclaimed  Lady  Corbet  one 
day,  bursting  into  tho  school-room,  evidently  in  a 
great  heat.  "Here  has  Sir  John  sent  up  from 
the  sugar-house  to  tay  that  he  has  a  party  of 
Londoners  come  to  ses  the  furnaces,  and  desiring 
me  to  have  a  banquet  prepared  for  them  and  be 
ready  to  receive  them  all  in  half  an  hour.  And 
there  is  the  furniture  in  the  great  room  to  bo 
uncovered  and  dusted,  and  myself  to  be  dressed — 
and  how  it  is  to  be  done  /  don't  know,  for  Ashwell 
has  gone  home  to  her  mother,  who  is  ill,  and  the 
cock  has  no  notion  of  anything  beyond  her  sauce- 
pans. Do  tell  me  what  I  shall  do,  there's  a  dear !" 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  madam,  I  will  arrange 
the  banquet  myself,  and  that  will  allow  you  time 
to  dress  and  to  superintend  the  ordering  of  the 
great  rooms,"  said  'Winifred. 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  But  are  you  sure  you  know 
how  ?  Sir  John  is  very  particular." 

"1  think  so,"  spid  Wmifred,  smiling.  "I  have 
often  assistc-il  Mr*.  Aiwright.  There  is  abundance 


THE  BANQUET.  211 

of  wall  fruit  now  ripe,  and  if  you  will  allow  me  aa 
many  flowers  as  I  need,  and  the  help  of  Mrs. 
Paulina  " 

"  Take  anything  you  need  I"  said  Lady  Corbet, 
evidently  greatly  relieved.  You  will  find  a  tray 
and  dishes  in  the  great  closet,  and  there  is  the  key 
of  the  store-room,  where  is  abundance  of  preserved 
fruits,  both  English  and  other.  But  use  the  Indian 
comfits  as  much  as  you  can,  for  Sir  John  will  be 
glad  to  see  them." 

"  Cannot  we  help  too  ?"  asked  the  twins  and 
Betty,  all  in  a  breath. 

"  Not  this  time,"  said  Winifred.  "  You  have  your 
lessons  to  learn,  and,  having  wasted  so  much  time 
already  this  morning,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  spend 
any  more.  Let  me  see  when  I  come  back  that  you 
have  redeemed  your  time,  and  with  madam  your 
mother's  permission  I  will  bring  you  some  comfits." 

"  To  be  sure,  poor  wretches  !"  ("Wretch,  in  those 
days,  was  a  term  of  endearment. )  "  Do  just  as  you 
like,  Mrs.  Evans,  only  do  have  everything  ready  in 
time !" 

"  No  fear,  madam.  Give  yourself  no  concern, 
only  go  and  dress,  and  we  will  have  all  things 
prepared,"  said  Winifred,  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  the  affair,  which  recalled  to  her  mind  some  of 


212  WINIFRED. 

the  delightful  bustles  at  the  Hall  on  similar  occa- 
sions. "Bun  to  the  garden,  Paulina,  and  bring  me 
all  the  red  and  white  roses  you  can  find,  with  plenty 
of  other  flowers,  and  young  lavender  and  rosemary 
shoots.  Cut  short  stems,  and  don't  go  off  in  a 
dream  and  forget  what  you  are  about !" 

Paulina  departed,  and  presently  returned  with 
her  basket  and  apron  full  of  flowers.  She  found 
Winifred,  with  her  gown  tucked  up  and  her  ruffles 
turned  back,  dishing  out  preserves,  arranging  com- 
fits and  spices  in  numberless  glass  and  china  bowls, 
and  piling  up  fruit  in  silver  baskets.  All  these 
bowls  and  baskets,  being  arranged  in  symmetrical 
order  in  the  large  wooden  trays  which  stood  on 
the  table,  and  decked  with  quantities  of  flowers, 
constituted  the  banquet  which  it  was  the  custom 
to  serve  up  to  guests  like  those  Lady  Corbet  ex- 
pected. Paulina  looked  on  in  wonder  and  admira- 
tion, as  Winifred  contrived,  arranged,  and  planned, 
harmonizing  forms  and  colors  with  the  eye  of  a 
born  artist. 

"  That  is  really  beautiful !"  said  she,  as  Winifred 
stepped  back  to  contemplate  her  work.  "  All  I 
have  ever  seen  before  were  just  heaps  of  good 
khings  piled  up  any  how.  And  you  really  take 
pleasure  in  the  work  !"  she  added,  looking-  at  Win- 


THE   BANQUET.  21'l 

ifred's  delicately  flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes. 
"  I  don't  &ee  ho  w  one  like  you  can  care  for  such 
matters.  In  an  hour  all  this  will  be  ruined  and 
scattered,  and  who  will  be  the  better  for  all  your 
toil?" 

"Ever  so  many  people!"  said  Winifred.  "I 
shall  be  the  better  for  having  pleased  madam  your 
mother,  who  has  been  kind  to  me.  Madam  will  be 
pleased  because  Sir  John  is,  and  Sir  John  will  be 
gratified  at  having  done  due  honor  to  his  guests. 
Besides,  I  love  the  work.  It  recalls  the  happiest 
days  of  all  my  life,  when  I  used  to  help  my  dear 
lady  at  the  Hall." 

"  I  should  not  think  my  cousin  would  have 
cared  for  such  worldly  trifles,"  said  Paulina. 

"  My  dear  lady  cared  for  anything  which  would 
give  pleasure  to  others,"  said  Winifred.  "  I  have 
seen  her  spend  hours  over  Sir  Edward's  laced  bands 
and  ruffles  because  no  one  else  could  do  them  so 
much  to  his  mind.  Ah,  my  dear,  when  you  come 
to  look  rightly  at  life,  you  will  find  that  the  least 
trifles  may  be  sanctified  by  being  directed  and 
done  to  our  dear  Divine  Master.  But  we  will  talk 
of  that  another  time.  I  hear  your  mother  coining 
from  her  room  ;  please  ask  her  to  step  this  way." 

Lady  Corbet  held  up  her  hands. 


214  WINIFBED. 

"  You  are  a  jewel — a  perfect  jewel,  Mrs.  Evans ! 
I  must  have  you  for  ray  own.  That  comes  from 
your  good  bringing  up.  But  I  mrvst  certainly  have 
you  with  me  all  the  time.  You  wo'ild  be  worth  ail 
the  other  women  in  the  house  to  me." 

"  I  am  sure,  madam,  Ashwell  does  her  best/'  sail 
Paulina.  "  She  has  been  a  faithful  servant  for 
many  years,  and  it  would  be  hard  to  turn  her  away 
for  a  stranger." 

"And  pray,  Mistress  Malapert,  who  talks  of 
turning  her  away,  or  who  asked  your  advice  in  the 
matter  at  all  ?"  said  Lady  Corbet,  turning  sharply 
round.  "  When  I  want  your  counsel,  I  will  ask  for 
it.  There,  child,  I  did  not  mean  to  be  sharp  ^ith 
you,  but  you  do  vex  me  past  endurance — always 
taking  it  for  granted  that  one  means  to  do  the 
worst  thing  possible,  and  taking  elders  and  betters 
to  task  on  every  occasion.  When  I  was  at  your 
age,  I  should  have  felt  the  rod  for  such  a  speech, 
aye,  or  such  a  look,  either.  There,  go  to  the  school- 
room and  keep  your  sisters  in  order,  while  IVErs, 
Evans  remains  here  to  send  in  the  refreshments. 
The  child  does  put  me  past  patience  with  her  airs," 
she  added,  as  Paulina  departed,  with  the  look  of 
one  going  to  the  stake.  "  Just  think  of  her  taking 
upon  her  to  lecture  her  own  godmother,  my  old 


THE   BANQUET.  215 

A.unt  Norton,  as  good  a  woman  as  ever  breathed, 
because  the  poor  old  lady  took  her  knitting  upon 
Ash- Wednesday  I" 

"  Yet  Mrs.  Paulina  seems,  too,  as  if  she  were 
trying  to  do  right,"  said  Winifred.  "I  do  not 
understand  it." 

"  Oh !  trying  to  do  right.  One  may  try  too 
much,  in  my  opinion.  I  have  no  fancy  for  these 
over -righteous  people.  But  there  is  the  knocker, 
and  I  must  go.  I  trust  all  to  you,  my  dear.  I  am 
sure  all  will  go  well." 

Fortunately  all  did  go  well,  until  just  as  the  last 
tray  of  sweetmeats  was  sent  in,  when  Phyllis,  with 
a  scared,  pale  face,  peeped  into  the  little  store- 
room. 

"  Please,  Mrs.  Evans,  will  you  come  up  to  the 
school-room  ?  We  can't  do  anything  with  Betty." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  and  why  should  you  do 
anything  with  Betty?"  asked  Winifred.  "Have 
you  been  teasing  your  little  sister  again,  Phyllis?" 

"  I  am  sure  we  did  not  mean  anything,"  said 
Phyllis,  looking  very  much  ashamed,  "  only  she  is 
so  cross.  But  Paulina  needn't  have  shook  her  so. 
But  please,  Mrs.  Evans,  do  hurry,  before  madam 
hears  Betty!" 

Winifred  looked  about  her  to  see  that  everything 


216  WIXIFllED. 

was  safe,  <md  then  hurried  up  to  the  school-room. 
As  she  opened  the  green  baize  door,  she  was  startled 
by  hearing  a  shriek  from  Betty  very  different  from 
her  usual  scream  of  passion — an  unmistakable  cry 
of  pain.  She  opened  the  school-room  door.  Bettj? 
stood  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  with  both  hands 
pressed  to  her  side,  sobbing  at  every  breath,  and 
shrieking  at  every  third  respiration.  Jemima  was 
trying  to  pacify  her,  while  Paulina  sat  in  the  win- 
dow, endeavoring  very  unsuccessfully  to  appear 
unconscious  of  what  was  going  on.  In  an  in- 
stant Winifred  saw  that  something  serious  was  the 
matter. 

"  Come  here  to  me,  Betty !"  she  said,  in  her 
gentle  tone  of  authority.  "  Mrs.  Paulina,  open  the 
window  at  once  —  throw  the  casement  wide. 
Phyllis,  run  and  bring  a  glass  of  wine  and  some 
cool  water  ;  you  will  find  them  in  the  store- room. 
Jemima,  come  and  unloose  your  sister's  stays  and 
gown  while  I  hold  her  in  the  fresh  air." 

"Keally,  Mrs.  Evans,"  began  Paulina;  but  a 
louder  cry  from  Betty  stopped  her  words,  and  tlie 
child's  head  sank  back  upon  her  friend's  shoulder, 

a  She  is  dead !"  shrieked  the  twins. 

"  No  ;  I  think  she  has  only  fainted,"  said  Wini- 
fred, trying  to  speak  calmly,  though  she  was 


THE  BANQUET.  217 

herself  alarmed  at  the  child's  ghastly  appearance. 
"  Paulina,  did  not  Lady  Corbet  say  that  a  doctor 
from  London  was  to  be  among  the  guests  ?" 

But  Paulina,  pale  as  death  and  trembling  in 
every  limb,  could  remember  nothing. 

"  She  did,  I  know,"  said  Phyllis,  who  possessed 
more  ready  wit  and  presence  of  mind  than  all  the 
rest  together.  "  Doctor  Mercer  was  his  name." 

"  Very  well.  Now  I  am  going  to  lay  Betty  upon 
the  window  seat,  where  the  fresh  air  will  blow  upon 
her.  Do  you,  Phyllis,  bathe  her  face  with  the 
strong  waters,  and,  Jemima,  fan  her.  Be  steady 
and  quiet  like  sensible  girls  till  I  come  back." 

The  twins,  quieted  by  the  trust  imposed  upon 
them,  promised  to  obey,  and  Winifred  was  soon  at 
the  drawing-room  door,  asking  to  speak  to  Lady 
Corbet. 

"Why,  what  has  happened,  chi'd?  You  are  aa 
white  as  your  cap  !  You  have  not  broken  the  great 
standing  china  bowl,  have  you  ?" 

"No,  madam!"  said  Winifred,  hardly  able  to 
suppress  a  smile  even  there,  to  see  how  the  good 
lady's  housekeeping  instinct  came  uppermost  ; 
"  but  Betty  has  fainted,  and  I  fear  she  is  going  to 
be  very  ill.  Will  you  please  come  and  bring  the 
doctor  with  you  ?' ' 

19 


218  WINIFRED. 

On  ordinary  occasions,  when  annoyed,  Lady  Cor- 
bet was  as  fussy  and  flustered  as  an  old  hen  ;  but 
any  real  emergency  always  made  her  quiet  and 
sensible  at  once. 

"  Ah,  poor  child  !  hath  she  had  another  swoon  ? 
Pray  go  back  to  her,  Mrs.  Winifred,  and  I  will 
bring  the  doctor  directly." 

Winifred  hurried  back  as  desired,  and  found  that 
Betty  had  revived,  but  was  still  in  great  pain,  una- 
ble to  draw  a  long  breath  or  to  move.  Phyllis 
was  supporting  her  in  an  upright  position  as  well 
as  she  could,  and  Jemima  was  fanning  her,  while 
Paulina  had  thrown  herself  upon  the  floor  in  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  room,  and  was  leaning  her 
head  upon  a  chair. 

"  O  Mrs.  Evans,  help  me !  Don't  let  me  die  !" 
gasped  the  poor  child.  "  Oh !  am  I  dying  ?" 

"  I  trust  not,  my  dear.  Do  not  be  alarmed !"  said 
Winifred,  cheerfully.  "  See,  you  are  better  already, 
and  here  is  your  mother  with  the  good  doctor  from 
London.  Now  be  a  good  maid,  and  do  as  you  are 
bid,  and  I  trust  all  will  be  well." 

"What's  this?  The  window  open,  and  the 
air  blowing  in  the  child's  face!"  exclaimed  Lady 
Corbet,  who  had  all  the  dread  of  fresh  air  natural 


THE   BANQUET.  219 

to  an  English  woman  of  the  time,  or  indeed  of  any 
time, 

"  Of  course !  Where  should  it  blow  ?"  returned 
the  doctor,  roughly  but  not  unkindly.  "  When 
people  are  gasping  for  breath,  they  need  fresh  air, 
though  I  wonder  how  my  young  mistress  came  by 
sense  enough  to  give  it  to  her.  Hold  her  more 
upright  still — ah !  that  will  do.  Let  me  have  your 
hand,  my  little  girl.  Ah  I  I  see.  Have  you  given 
her  anything?"  sharply  to  Winifred. 

"Nothing,"  said  Winifred.  "I  sent  for  some 
wine,  but  she  had  fainted  before  it  came." 

"Just  as  well.  She  must  have  an  anodyne  at 
once.  Bring  me  some  syrup,  a  spoon,  and  water." 

"  In  the  store-room,  Phyllis !"  said  Winifred ; 
"quickly,  my  dear." 

Phyllis  was  back  almost  before  the  words  were 
spoken,  and  the  doctor  prepared  the  anodyne  with 
his  own  hands.  There  had  always  been  a  great 
struggle  to  make  Betty  take  medicine,  but  her  own 
alarm  and  distress  and  the  ascendency  Winifred 
had  already  obtained  over  her  rendered  her 
docile. 

"  Now,  she  must  be  put  to  bed,  and  kept  abso- 
lutely quiet,"  said  the  doctor.  "  This  young  lady 
— I  have  not  the  honor  of  knowing  her  name — 


220  WINIFRED. 

seems  to  have  her  wits  at  her  fingers'  ends.  Let 
her  stay  with  the  child  and  sit  up  with  her  to- 
night. You,  madam,  keep  the  house  very  quiet, 
I  am  to  be  in  town  some  days,  and  I  will  look  in 
upon  you  again  in  the  morning." 

"  What  causes  these  attacks,  doctor  ?"  asked 
Lady  Corbet,  after  Betty  had  left  the  room. 

"Heart  disease,"  answered  Doctor  Mercer, 
briefly.  "  I  am  sorry  to  shock  you,  madam,  but  it 
is  but  right  you  should  know,  in  order  to  guard 
against  them,  since  every  paroxysm  she  has  is  just 
so  much  ground  lost.  With  care  she  may  outgrow 
them,  but  she  is  likely  enough  to  die  in  any  one. 
You  must  avoid  all  cause  of  excitement  with  her  ; 
never  let  her  be  struck  or  shaken  ;  above  all,  taken 
roughly  by  the  left  arm.  One  such  shock  may  be 
fatal." 

Paulina,  in  her  dark  corner,  buried  her  face 
deeper  at  these  words,  as  she  remembered  how 
sharply  she  had  shaken  Betty  by  that  very  arm, 
and  how  thin  and  fragile  it  had  felt  in  her  grasp 
The  twins  heard  it  also  as  they  clung  together  in 
the  window,  and  promised  each  other  in  whispers 
that  they  would  never,  no,  never  tease  Betty  again, 
no  matter  what  she  did,  if  God  would  only  spare 
her  this  time. 


TUE  BANQUET. 

"And  what  about  this  fever,  doctor,  that  they 
Bay  is  in  the  town  ?  Can  one  do  anything  to  keep 
it  off  by  fumigations  or  the  like  ?" 

"  The  best  way  to  keep  it  off  is  to  use  plenty  o. 
air  and  cleanliness,"  replied  Doctor  Mercer,  who 
was  so  far  in  advance  of  his  age  as  to  be  accounted 
almost  a  heretic  by  his  learned  brethren.  "  Use 
good  food  in  moderation,  and  see  that  your  work- 
people and  the  poor  about  you  have  the  same,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  God." 

"  But  you  will  come  and  see  my  poor  Betty 
again  in  the  morning  ?"  urged  the  anxious  mother. 

"  To  be  sure  !  I  said  so.  By  the  way,  who  is 
this  young  gentlewoman  who  seems  to  understand 
herself  so  well  ?  A  kinswoman  of  your  own  ?" 

"Nay,  I  cannot  call  her  a  kinswoman  exactly, 
though  she  is  a  connection  of  my  cousin  Margaret, 
Lady  Peckham  of  Holford,  and  was  indeed  partly 
brought  up  by  her,"  answered  Lady  Corbet,  who 
never  failed  to  sport  the  Peckhams  of  Holford  on 
every  possible  occasion.  "  Her  father  was  captain 
of  a  vessel  sailing  from  this  port,  and  son  of  a  Som- 
ersetshire yeoman  of  good  estate*,  but  her  mother 
was  daughter  to  a  Devonshire  gentleman  of  very 
oM  family.  She  is  daily  governess  to  my  daugh- 
19* 


222  W1K1FEED. 

ters,  and  I  am  so  much  pleased  with  her  that  I 
think  of  taking  her  into  my  house  altogether." 

"  So  she  is  an  orphan  ?"  said  the  doctor.  "  Well, 
madam,  follow  my  directions,  and  I  trust  all  will  be 
well  ;  but  above  all  keep  the  house  quiet.  I  will 
not  answer  for  consequences  should  the  child  be 
suddenly  awakened." 

"  Well,  maidens,  you  have  heard  what  the  good 
doctor  has  said,"  said  Lady  Corbet.  "Let  me  see 
how  quiet  you  can  be.  I  must  say  you  have  be- 
haved well  and  shown  yourselves  sensible  girls. 
But  where  is  Paulina  ?" 

"  Here,  madam !"  said  Paulina,  lifting  her  pale, 
tear-stained  face  from  the  chair  on  which  it  had 
been  hidden;  and  then,  throwing  herself  at  her 
mother's  feet,  she  exclaimed,  in  a  suppressed  voice  : 
"  Tt  was  all  my  fault,  mother — all,  all!  Beat  me  if 
you  will  or  turn  me  out  of  the  house,  for  I  deserve 
it  all !" 

"  Hush,  hush,  child !  It  is  a  good  thing  to  own 
your  faul-t,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  it,  but  don't  go 
into  hysterics,  and  wake  your  poor  sister.  Phyllis, 
you  can  tell  a  straight  story.  Let  me  hear  an  ac- 
count of  the  whole  from  you." 

There  did  not  seen,  to  be  BO  very  much  to  tell 
The  twins  had  been  teasing  Betty  with  rough  play, 


THE  -BANQUET.  223 

while  Paulina  was  reading  as  usual  in  her  corner. 
Finally  Betty  fell  over  a  foot-stool  against  Paulina, 
and  knocked  her  book  out  of  her  hand.  Betty  cried 
out.  "And  then,"  Concluded  Phyllis,  "Paulina 
sho<>k  her  hard,  and  slapped  her  shoulders  two  or 
three  times  with  tue  OOUK,  to  inane  her  stop  scream- 
ing. Then  when  she  would  not  stop,  Paulina  set 
her  m  the  corner,  and  shook  her  again.  Then  I 
was  frightened  because  Betty  looked  so  bad,  and  I 
ran  and  called  Mrs,  Evans." 

"It  is  all  true !"  said  Paulina,  between  her  sobs. 
"  I  have  killed  the  child !  It  was  all  my  wicked 
temper  because  you  sent  me  up-stairs.  I  have 
done  all  the  mischief." 

Lady  Corbet  was  amazid.  It  was  the  first  time 
Paulina  had  ever  accused  herself  of  a  fault.  She 
administered  lectures  and  pardons  all  round,  was 
certain  they  would  never  be  so  bad  again,  Rent  for 
some  of  the  relics  of  the  banquet  to  make  them  a 
feast,  and,  when  it  was  plain  that  Paulina  could  not 
eat,  made  her  a  cup  of  tea  ( then  a  very  uncommon 
luxury),  and  sent  her  to  bed  to  sleep  off  her  head- 
iohe. 


XV 


THE     FEV  EE. 


ABOUT  nine  o'clock  Lady  Corbet  came  softly 
into  the  room  where  Betty  had  at  last  fallen 
into  a  quiet  and  sound  slumber. 

"  Poor  little  dear  !"  said  she,  sadly,  as  she  looked 
at  the  pale  face  of  the  little  sleeper.  "  She  really 
breathes  more  gently,  does  she  not  ?  How  lucky 
that  the  doctor  happened  to  be  in  the  house  !  But, 
sweetheart,  you  must  go  and  get  some  supper  and 
a  breath  of  fresh  air,  for  I  am  sure  you  need  it. 
And,  my  dear,  wLl  you,  as  you  come  back,  just  step 
in  and  see  if  Pall  is  asleep  ?  The  poor  child  is  all 
but  broken-hearted.  I  could  not  be  hard  upon  hei 
when  I  saw  how  sorry  she  was  for  her  fault,  espec- 
ially as  it  is  so  rare  for  her  to  own  herself  in  the 
wrong." 

Winifred  was  rather  unwilling  to  leave  her  chargo, 

(224) 


THE  FEVER.  225 

but  she  was  afraid  of  an  argument  on  the  subject 
which  would  waken  Betty,  so  she  slipped  gently 
out  of  the  room.  She  had  eaten  nothing  since 
her  twelve  o'clock  dinner,  and  felt  herself  refreshed 
by  the  delicate  little  supper  which  had  been  pre- 
pared for  her  by  the  motherly  care  of  Lady  Corbet. 
She  went  to  the  garden  door  to  catch  a  breath  of 
fresh  air,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  air  abroad. 
The  heat  was  melting,  and  a  low,  heavy  cloud 
brooded  over  the  whole  sky. 

"  What  a  stifling  heat !"  thought  Winifred,  draw- 
ing a  long  breath.  "  I  wonder  if  it  is  any  fresher 
on  the  top  of  Holford  heath  ?  It  seems  as  though 
one  breath  smelling  of  the  furze  would  put  pew  life 
into  my  heart." 

She  drew  another  long  breath,  and  went  slowly 
up-stairs  to  Paulina's  little  chamber.  She  opened 
the  door,  and  at  first  thought  no  one  was  in  the 
room  ;  but  a  closer  inspection  showed  her  Paulina, 
in  her  white  night-dress,  prostrate  on  the  bare 
boards,  her  face  hidden  in  her  arms,  and  her  whole 
boKy  shaking  with  suppressed  sobs. 

"  My  poor,  dear  child  !"  said  Winifred,  kneeling 
beside  her.  "  Why  are  you  here,  when  you  should 
be  in  bed  and  asleep  ?" 

Paulina  did  not  re*Vh-  save  bv  her  dwoer  so^s. 


22fi  WINIFRED. 

"  Even  if  you  have  done  wrong,  which  I  do  not 
deny,  you  know  bhere  is  forgiveness  for  the  worst 
of  sinners,"  continued  Winifred,  in  soothing  tones. 
"  Do  you  not  remember  who  it  was  that  came  into 
the  world  to  save  sinners?" 

"  Don't,  Mrs.  Evans !"  interrupted  Paulina,  in 
t^nes  of  agony.  "You  will  kill  me.  For  three 
long  years  I  have  been  trying  to  make  myself  a 
Christian,  and  I  am  no  nearer  to  it  than  when  I 
began.  I  have  fasted  and  prayed,  and  clone  pen- 
ance, and  thought  upon  death  and  judgment,  till 
my  head  was  like  to  burst,  and  all  to  no  purpose. 
I  shall  never  be  prepared  for  them  nor  for  heaven !'' 

"  Poor  child !"  said  Winifred,  soothingly,  as 
Paulina  dropped  her  head  upon  her  arms  with  a 
fresh  burst  of  sobs.  "No  wonder  you  are  dis- 
couraged. Your  efforts  have  been  like  your  tapes- 
try work.  You  have  begun  all  wrong,  and  therefore 
it  is  no  wonder  that  your  labors  have  produced 
nothing  but  confusion.  Do  you  remember  what  I 
told  you  about  it — that  you  would  never  do  any- 
thing with  that  piece,  but  you  must  begin  anew  ?" 

"Yes!"  answered  Paulina,  interested,  as  it  were, 
in  spite  of  herself, 

"  And  you  found  it  so,  did  you  not  ?  You  ha£ 
to  take  all  new  u/aterials — canvas,  worsted,  and 


THE  FEVER.  227 

silk — after  you  had*  tried  two  or  three  da^s  to 
rectify  your  mistakes.  After  that  you  went  on 
prosperously  enough." 

"  Well  ?"  said  Paulina. 

"Well,  Paulina,  you  have  made  the  same  mis- 
take in  your  religion. .  You  have  begun  wrong,  and 
thus  you  have  gone  on  from  bad  to  worse  ;  and  if 
you  were  to  go  on  forever,  you  can  never  get  to 
heaven  in  this  way,  because  you  are  not  in  the  way 
thither." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Mrs.  Winifred," 
said  Paulina,  both  roused  and  piqued  by  this  un- 
expected statement.  "  I  don't  know  how  one  is  to 
get  to  heaven  except  by  being  good." 

"  Then  no  one  will  ever  go  there,  for  assuredly 
no  one  was  ever  good  enough  yet.  You  are  fond 
of  saying  that  you  know  all  the  prayers  in  the 
church  service,  Paulina.  Who  is  it  who  is  said, 
in  the  Communion  Service,  to  have  made  by  His 
one  oblation  of  himself  once  offered,  a  full,  perfect, 
and  sufficient  satisfaction  for  the  sins  of  the  whole 
world?" 

"  Our  Lord,  of  course !" 

"  Well,  what  was  the  need  of  His  making  that 
costly  offering,  if  people  can  gain  salvation  and 
hftaven  by  their  own  efforts  without  Him  ;  above 


228  WINIFEED. 

all,  if  by  penance  and  fasting  they  can  make  atone- 
ment for  their  own  sins?  No,  no,  my  child,  you 
are  wrong.  Do  you  think  that  by  lying  all  night 
weeping  on  the  ground  you  can  blot  out  the  evil 
you  have  done  this  day,  and  thus  make  your 
account  even  with  the  God  you  have  offended  ?'? 

"  No,  oh,  no  !"  cried  Paulina,  letting  her  head 
fall  again.  "  Oh !  if  any  penance,  any  pilgrimage, 
could  make  amend  or  restore  my  poor  sister,  how 
gladly  would  I  do  it!" 

"But  if  the  way  is  already  provided  whereby 
your  sin  may  be  blotted  out  as  if  it  had  never  been," 
said  Winifred  ;  "if  by  no  action  upon  your  part, 
save  sorrow  for  your  sins  and  faith  in  your  Saviour, 
you  could  settle  all  the  long  account  against  you 
and  receive  strength  for  all  time  to  come,  would  it 
not  be  worth  while  to  try  ?  O  Paulina !  give  up 
this  wretched  and  false  idea  of  earning  the  favor  of 
God.  Cast  yourself  just  as  you  are — a  poor,  lost, 
dying  sinner — utterly  unworthy  of  anything  save 
condemnation,  upon  the  mercy  of  God  in.  Jesus 
Christ  His  Son,  and  beg  forgiveness  for  II  is  sake 
who  died  and  rose  again  for  you.  Then  indeed' 
you  may  feel  yourself  forgiven.  Then  you  will 
know  what  it  is  to  love  your  Father  in  heaven  as 
well  as  to  fear  Him  :  and  humbled  yet  encouraged, 


THE   FEVEK.  229 

you  may  go  on  staving  to  please  God,  not  because 
He  is  a  hard  and  exacting  master,  but  because  He 
is  a  dear  Father,  who  so  loved  you  that  He  gave 
His  own  Son  to  die  for  you.  I  must  go  back  to 
your  sister  now,  but,  Paulina,  think  of  what  I  have 
said,  and  try  to  act  upon  it.  And  do  not  by  thus 
exposing  your  health  add  to  your  mother's  cares 
and  anxieties.  Believe  me  that  is  only  another 
form  of  selfishness  !" 

"I  will  do  as  you  tell  me,"  said  Paulina,  sub- 
missively ;  "  but  oh  !  Mrs.  Winifred,  do  not  be  hard 
upon  me  !  I  am  so  very,  very  unhappy  !" 

"  But  what  is  there  to  make  you  so  unhappy, 
Paulina?  Anything  but  what  happened  to-day?" 

"  Everything  !"  said  Paulina,  abruptly.  "  I  wish 
I  had  never  been  born.  But  there,  Betty  will 
want  you.  Good- night !" 

"  I  must  indeed  go  to  her !"  said  Winifred. 
"  Good-night,  my  dear  child,  and  may  God  bless 
you  and  teach  you  by  His  Holy  Spirit !" 

"  Well,  and  how  did  you  find  Pall  ?"  asked  Lady 
Corbet. 

"  Very  sad,  madam  ;  but  I  left  her  more  quiet, 
and,  I  trust,  in  a  way  to  be  comforted.  And  now, 
let  me  beg  you  to  rest,  and  leave  our  little  one  to 
my  care." 

20 


230  WINIFRED. 

The  next  morning  found  Betty  decidedly  im- 
proved, though  very  weak  and  languid,  and  much 
disposed  to  insist  upon  her  privileges  as  ar  invalid^ 
and  keep  the  whole  house  waiting  upon  her.  At 
last,  however,  she  was  prevailed  upon  to  let  Phyllis 
sit  by  her  side  and  tell  her  stories,  while  Winifred 
refreshed  herself  with  washing  and  dressing  and  a 
walk  in  the  garden.  She  looked  up  at  Paulina's 
window,  but  the  curtain  was  drawn.  Winifred 
gathered  a  handful  of  flowers  and  leaves,  and  made 
a  couple  of  little  nosegays  to  carry  up  to  her 
patient.  She  peeped  into  Paulina's  room,  and 
found  her  awake,  but  not  up. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me," 
was  her  reply  to  Winifred's  question ;  "  but  I 
cannot  rise  at  all.  I  am  so  sick  and  giddy,  and 
my  head  feels  so  strangely !  I  have  been  hot  and 
cold  by  fits  all  night,  and  so  thirsty  I  have  drunk 
up  all  the  water  in  the  jug.  But  oh!  please  do 
open  the  window,  and  let  in  the  fresh  air.  I  am 
stifled  in  this  close  room." 

Winifred  undrew  the  curtains  and  let  in  the 
light  and  air.  As  she  did  so,  she  looked  at  Paul- 
ina, and  her  heart  sank  within  her,  for  she  thought 
she  recognized  in  the  girl's  face  the  first  signs  of 
the  dreadful  fever  which  had  swept  away  in  five 


THE   FEVER.  231 

weeks  more  than  half  the  inhabitants  of  Bridge- 
water. 

"  Do  not  try  to  rise,"  said  she.  "  You  are  not 
able.  I  will  excuse  you  to  madam  your  mother, 
and  will  bring  the  doctor  to  you  when  he  comes  to 
see  Betty." 

Paulina  sank  back  on  her  pillow  with  a  sigh,  as 
though  it  were  a  sort  of  comfort  to  find  herself 
relieved  from  exertion,  and  Winifred  hastened 
down-stairs  as  she  heard  the  doctor's  foot  ascend- 
ing. He  looked  at  Betty,  pronounced  her  doing 
well,  and  quite  won  her  heart  by  his  jokes  and  a 
new  picture-book,  so  that  she  readily  agreed  to 
stay  in  bed  and  play  with  her  doll  if  only  Phyllis 
might  stay  with  her. 

"  If  you  please,  niadam,  I  should  like  the  doctor 
to  see  Mrs.  Paulina,"  said  Winifred.  "  She  seems 
to  me  far  from  well  and  is  quite  unable  to  rise." 

The  moment  Doctor  Mercer  entered  the  room, 
he  exchanged  a  glance  with  Winifred,  which  seemed 
to  say  on  one  side,  "  Do  you  know  the, state  of  the 
case?"  and  on  the  other,  "Yes,  I  do." 

Paulina  was  heavy  and  drowsy,  answering  in- 
telligently when  roused,  but  soon  dropping  off 
again.  The  doctor  felt  her  pulse  and  head,  exam- 
ined her  tongue,  and  asked  many  questions  as  to 


232  WINIFRED. 

how  she  had  rested  and  how  she  had  felt  for  some 
days  back.  Then  he  beckoned  Lady  Corbet  out 
of  the  room. 

"Your  daughter  is  very  ill,  madam,"  said  he, 
gravely,  "and,  I  fear,  is  likely  to  be  worse.  She 
has  every  symptom  of  the  prevailing  fever." 

Lady  Corbet  turned  pale  and  trembled.  She 
had  the  dread  of  infection  common  to  the  time, 
when,  indeed,  there  was  every  excuse  for  it ;  since, 
owing  to  the  manner  of  life  and  the  ignorance  of 
hygienic  laws,  almost  all  diseases  took  on  an  in- 
fectious character.  But  she  was,  as  I  have  said,  a 
woman  great  in  emergencies,  and  it  was  but  a 
moment  before  she  recovered  herself,  and  asked, 
anxiously  indeed  but  calmly,  what  was  to  be  done, 
and  whether  any  measures  could  be  taken  to  pre- 
vent the  spread  of  the  disease. 

"  You  see,  Doctor  Mercer,  I  do  not  exactly  know 
to  whom  to  turn.  Our  old  family  doctor  is  lately 
dead,  and  Doctor  Butler,  who  would  be  my  next 
dependence,  has  turned  papist,  and  can  think  of 
nothing  but  his  crosses  and  medals  and  other 
popish  trinkets,  besides  which  he  is  not  a  man  of 
such  character  as  I  should  like  to  have  about  my 
young  daughters.  He  hath  made  trouble  in  mo*e 


THE   FEVER.  233 

than  one  family.  O  doctor !  if  you  could  only  stay 
and  attend  upon  my  children !" 

The  doctor  smiled.  "  I  have  been  thinking, 
madam,  of  spending  some  time  in  the  West,  specially 
for  the  purpose  of  studying  this  fever,  which  haa 
made  such  ravages  of  late  years.  I  shall  be  happy 
to  attend  your  daughters,  but  I  warn  you  that  I 
am  considered  little  better  than  a  heretic  by  many 
of  my  medical  brethren.  I  shall  not  bleed  Mrs. 
Paulina,  nor  shut  her  up  in  a  close  room  with 
neither  air  nor  water." 

"  You  shall  do  just  as  you  please,"  said  Lady 
Corbet,  evidently  greatly  relieved.  "  To  be  sure,  it 
does  not  seem  very  sensible  to  heat  up  folks  that 
are  burning  up  already." 

"  Have  you  servants  upon  whom  you  can  rely  ?" 
asked  Doctor  Mercer. 

"  That  I  don't  know,"  answered  Lady  Corbet. 
"  There  is  Ashwell,  who  would  go  through  fire  and 
water  to  serve  me,  and  scold  and  grumble  at  me 
all  the  time  !  But  as  for  the  rest,  I  cannot  answer 
for  them." 

"  This  Mrs.  Evans,  now  ?"  said  the  doctor,  in  an 
inquiring  tone. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  doubt  not  she  would  be  worth  a 
host  ;  but  you  see,  Doctor  Mercer,  she  is  an  orphan 
20* 


WDxIFllED. 

child,  and  under  no  obligation  to  ine,  and  1  could 
not  ask  her  to  put  her  life  in  peril  for  a  stranger." 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,  I  am  sure  of  that," 
said  the  doctor,  abruptly.  "  But  the  gentlewoman 
has  been  exposed  already.  Does  not  that  make  a 
difference  ?" 

"  I  shall  remain,  of  course,"  said  Winifred,  who 
had  come  to  the  door  in  time  to  hear  the  last  few 
words.  "  If  you,  madam,  will  send  some  one  to 
my  aunt's  to  let  her  know  the  reason  of  my  stay 
and  to  bring  me  some  clothes,  I  shall  remain  with 
Mrs.  Paulina  till  she  is  better.  I  am  not  afraid." 

"But  you  do  not,  perhaps,  understand  the 
danger  ?"  said  the  doctor,  kindly. 

"  My  grandfather  and  my  mother,  and  many  of 
our  neighbors,  died  of  the  fever,"  replied  Winifred. 
"  I  have  nothing  to  hinder  my  staying,  and  I  am 
not  in  the  least  afraid." 

"  But  can  you  have  your  wits  about  you,  and  not 
go  off  in  a  fit  yourself  if  your  patient  swoons  or 
bleeds  at  the  nose?"  asked  the  doctor,  gruffly. 
"  The  sick-room  is  no  place  for  nervous  fine  ladies." 

"  I  can  do  as  I  am  bid,"  replied  Winifred,  simply. 

"'  If  you  can,  you  are  a  wonderful  woman  and 
worth  your  weight  in  gold.  Come  with  me,  that 
tell  you  what  to  do." 


THE   FEVER.  235 

Paulina  grew  rapidly  worse,  and  by  noon  was 
utterly  prostrated.  Sir  John,  coming  iiome  to 
dinner,  complained  of  headache  and  pains  in  all 
bis  joints  ;  and  though  he  made  light  of  it,  and 
declared  that  nothing  ailed  him  but  his  yesterday's 
dinner,  it  was  plain  that  the  disease  was  upon  him. 
]By  night  he  was  unable  to  rise,  and  one  of  the 
'prentice  lads  showed  symptoms  of  coining  down. 

"  Only  think,  Mrs.  Evans,"  said  Ashwell,  aa 
Winifred  came  down-stairs  to  prepare  same  gruel 
for  her  patient,  "  here  have  all  the  servants  run 
away  and  left  us — yes,  every  maid  in  the  house, 
and  the  two  men,  and  the  knife-boy  that  my  good 
lady  took  out  of  the  very  street,  as  a  body  may  say 
— all  gone  but  poor  black  Jack,  who  has  hardly  the 
sense  of  an  ape  and  cannot  talk  like  a  Christian. 
Yes,  every  one,  the  ungrateful  hussies,  and  after 
all  the  time  I  have  spent  teaching  them,  and  my 
mistress  giving  them  each  a  new  gown  only  last 
quarter !  And  this  new-fangled  doctor,  with  his 
fancies  about  fresh  air  and  cool  water  for  Mrs. 
Paulina,  as  if  any  one  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing 
in  a  fever!" 

"  Why  did  not  Jack  go  with  the  rest  ?"  asked 
Winifred. 

"  Me  not  going  to  run  away  and  leave  my  kind 


WINIFKED. 

massa  what  tooted  me  out  of  de  ship,  gave  me 
good  clothes  and  all,  and  missus  that  was  always 
kind  to  poor  Jack,"  said  the  negro,  answering  for 
himself.  "  Me  stay  and  wait  on  my  massa  !  Sup- 
pose I  do  get  fever,  what  then  ?  I  got  no  fader 
Dor  muder,  no  wife,  no  babies  !  Suppose  Jack  die, 
he  buried  in  the  ground  ;  there's  an  end  of  poor 
black  man,  unless  maybe  that  good  Lord  Jesus  my 
missus  tell  me  'bout  come  some  day,  and  say,  '  Get 
up,  Jack,  and  come  'long  with  me !' " 

"  Just  hear  the  poor  creature !"  said  Ashwell, 
wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  "  Whoever  thought 
of  his  having  feeling  Eke  that  ?  Well,  Mrs.  Evans, 
I  suppose  you  will  be  going  to  leave  us,  like  the 
rest?" 

"  No,  Ashwell,  I  have  no  notion  of  going  at  pre- 
sent," replied  Winifred,  who  was,  as  she  well  knew, 
no  favorite  with  the  spoiled  and  jealous  old  ser- 
vant. "  I  am  like  poor  Jack,"  she  added,  with  a 
sad  smile.  "  Suppose  I  do  die,  there  is  no  one  to 
cry  for  me.  I  shall  not  leave  Lady  Corbet  so  long 
as  I  can  do  anything  for  her." 

"  Mighty  fine  !"  grumbled  the  old  woman  ;  "  but 
who  is  to  do  all  the  work,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  You  and  I,  and  poor  Jack,  and  Mrs.  Jem  and 
Phyllis — begging  their  pardon  for  putting  them  in 


THE  FEVER.  237 

such  company,"- replied  Winifred,  smiling.  "As 
for  what  cannot  be  done,  we  must  just  leave  it 
undone  ;  and  I  am  sure  Jack  will  help  us  all  he  ia 
able." 

"Yes,  dat  I  will,  ypung  missus!"  replied  Jack, 
briskly.  "  Me  could  cook  de  dinner  as  well  as  dat 
greasy  Jenny  Cook,"  he  added,  with  an  injured 
air,  "  only  Missis  Ash  well  she  never  tink  Jack  kno^v 
nothing !" 

"Yes,  you  look  like  it !"  said  Ashwell,  and  then 
added,  in  a  softer  tone,  '•"  I  dare  say  you  would  do 
your  best." 

"I  should  not  wonder  if  he   did  know   how! 
said  Winifred.     "  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that 
some  of  the  best   cooks   he   ever  saw  were  West 
India  negroes." 

"Dat  de  livin'  truth,  young  missus!"  said  Jack, 
eagerly.  "  My  moder  she  cook  for  old  massa,  and 
I  learnt  all  her  ways,  for  I  was  big  boy  before 
massa  sold  me.  You  just  let  me  try,  that's  all !" 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  see !  See  who  is  knocking 
there!" 

The  knocker  was  no  less  a  person  than  Damo 
Evans  herself.  That  good  woman  had  been  thrown 
into  ten  times  more  than  her  usual  fume  and  nut- 
ter by  the  receipt  of  her  niece's  note,  which  she 


238  WINIFRED. 

had  been  unable  to  read  till  hei  husband  came 
home.  Then  indeed  there  was  a  breeze.  Dame 
Evans  wept  and  scolded — declared  that  there  never 
was  such  an  unlucky  woman,  and  that  everything 
turned  out  just  to  spite  her. 

"  Here,  just  as  we  had  made  up  our  minds  to  go 
out  into  the  country — to  the  very  house  this  wilful, 
troublesome  girl  was  born  in  and  was  always  rav- 
ing about — and  an  awful  piece  of  work  it  will  be, 
no  doubt,  and  endless  damage — Winifred  must  go 
and  expose  herself  to  the  fever,  so  that  we  cannot 
take  her  without  danger  to  all  our  precious  lives. 
And  as  if  that  were  not  enough,  she  must  go  and 
make  up  her  mind  to  stay  and  nurse  these  gentle- 
folks, who  are  neither  kith  nor  kin  to  her.  I  declare 
it  is  enough  to  provoke  a  saint !"  concluded  Dame 
Evans,  in  her  usual  style. 

"  Since  you  could  not  take  her  without  danger, 
it  is  well  that  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  remain 
with  my  Lady  Corbet !"  observed  Dame  Joyce,  who 
had  run  in  to  hear  and  tell  the  latest  news  about 
the  fever,  the  Irish  army  King  James  was  bringing 
over,  and  the  dreadful  doings  of  the  papists. 
"  The  Corbets  are  fine,  open-handed  people,  and 
can  pay  them  that  serve  them — that  is  one  thing." 

**  And  suppose  they  can — is  that  any  reason  my 


THE  FEVER.  239 

niece  should  endanger  her  precious  life  and  put 
me  to  all  this  inconvenience  ?"  said  Dame  Evans, 
turning  angrily  upon  her  visitor.  "  Thank  good- 
ness, we  are  not  dependent  upon  the  pay  of  great 
folks,  nor  need  to  be,  seeing  we  have  means  of  our 
own,  and  know  how  to  use  them  too,  if  we  don't 
wear  lace  whisks  and  camlet  gowns  every  day!" 
casting  a  glance  of  supreme  contempt  upon  the 
somewhat  superabundant  finery  of  the  goldsmith's 
wife. 

Good,  easy  Dame  Joyce  laughed,  and  addressed 
herself  to  Master  Evans. 

"  And  so  you  are  going  out  into  the  country,  for 
all  the  world  like  gentlefolks.  But  maybe  you 
will  not  be  so  much  better  off,  for  they  say  the 
fever  was  very  bad  at  Bridgewater  last  time.  Who 
knows,"  she  added  mischievously,  "  that  the  seeds 
of  the  fever  may  not  be  remaining  in  the  house, 
since  your  father  and  sister  died  of  it,  and  the 
place  has  been  shut  up  for  so  long  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mistress  Joyce,  you  are  not 
uO  judge  every  one  by  yourself,"  said  Dame  Evans, 
eharply.  "  You  won't  find  any  slat-holes  or  filthy, 
dirty  cupboards  about  my  place,  or  my  sister's 
either,  for  iJl  smells  and  sickness  to  lurk  in.  It  is 
my  opinion  that  if  folks  were  as  careful  as  they 


240  WINIFRED. 

should  be  to  keep  clean  and  decent,  we  should  Dot 
have  so  much  of  these  fevers!"  A  remark  in 
which  the  good  woman  was  undoubtedly  correct. 

"Well,  well,  dame,  we  will  not  quarrel  about 
that  1"  said  Mrs.  Joyce.  "What  are  you  going  to 
do  about  your  niece  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  !"  sairl  Dame  Evans,  pet- 
tishly. "  I  don't  quite  like  to  leave  her  behind,  but 
I  don't  see  how  we  are  to  take  her,  now  that  she 
has  been  exposed  to  the  fever." 

"  Yes,  and  so  bad  as  they  have  it,  too  !"  said  Mrs. 
Joyce,  who  seemed  to  take  delight  in  tormenting 
her  neighbor.  "  Their  servants  have  all  run  away 
men  and  maids  and  all,  except  old  Sarah  Ash  well 
and  the  blackamoor  who  waits  on  Sir  John." 

"  Winifred  must  do  as  she  thinks  right,"  said 
Master  Evans,  who  had  not  spoken  before.  "  If 
the  family  is  in  such  straits,  I  do  not  believe  she 
will  leave  them,  nor  can  I  blame  her  if  she  does  not. 
Nevertheless  she  must  have  the  choice  of  going 
with  us  or  staying  behind,  as  she  thinks  best. 
Perhaps,  when  she  knows  we  are  going  to  the 
Stonehill  farm,  she  may  change  her  mind." 

"  And  that  is  true,  too  !"  said  Dame  Evans.  "  I 
will  see  her  this  afternoon,  and  I  doubt  not  I  can 
bring  her  to  reason.  She  Las  been  well  brought 


THE   FEVER.  241 

up — n«t  like  some  people's  children,  left  to  go  to 
rack  and  ruin,  while  their  mother  goes  about  the 
street  to  show  her  finery." 

Dame  Evans  always  bestowed  these  hints  and 
innuendoes  upon  her  easy-tempered  neighbor  in 
great  abundance  :  nevertheless  she  would  have  felt 
herself  much  aggrieved  if  Dame  Joyce  had  not  run 
in  at  least  every  other  day  to  give  her  the  news  of 
the  street  and  the  city. 

Dame  Evans  dressed  herself  with  estra  care  for 
walking,  and,  having  set  the  little  girls  their  tasks 
of  knitting  and  sewing,  she  sallied  out  and  took 
her  way  to  Sir  John  Corbet's  house,  fortifying  her 
mind  with  all  the  arguments  she  could  think  of 
wherewith  to  overcome  Winifred's  obstinacy.  She 
would  not  come  within  the  door,  but  remained  in 
the  court  while  Jack  called  Winifred  out  of  the 
housekeeper's  room. 

"  There,  don't  come  too  near  me,  child !"  said 
Dame  Evans,  shrinking  back.  "I  suppose  jon 
have  just  come  from  that  poor  young  lady's  sick- 
bed." 

"Yes,  I  have  been  over  her  all  day."  ieplied 
Winifred.  "  Will  you  come  into  the  house,  aunt, 
nr  will  you  walk  into  the  garden  ?" 

"Let  us  go  into  the  garden,"  said  Dame  Evans, 


242  WINIFKED. 

though  she  felt  a  great  desire  to  see  the  fine  house 
of  which  she  had  heard  so  much.  "  We  shall  be  in 
the  fresh  air  at  least." 

Winifred  opened  the  gate  which  led  into  the 
garden,  and  conducted  her  aunt  to  a  pleasant  little 
arbor  at  the  opposite  end  from  the  house. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  fine  place,  to  be  sure !"  said  Dame 
Evans,  looking  about  her.  "  What  a  large  garden, 
and  what  a  great  house  I  Which  is  Mrs,  Paulina's 
room,  now?*' 

"  That  one  with  the  projecting  window  and  the 
open  casen-ent." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  leave  the  window 
open,  and  she  lying  ill  of  a  fever!"  exclaimed  Dame 
Evans,  in  horror.  "  What  can  you  be  thinking  of, 
child  ?  'Tis  enough  to  be  her  death !" 

"It  is  by  the  doctor's  orders,"  said  Winifred. 
"  He  is  a  new  doctor  from  London,  who  is  taking 
care  of  the  family." 

"Aye,  some  of  those  new-fangled  notions  !  No 
doubt,  he  must  be  setting  up  to  know  more  than 
all  his  elders  and  betters.  Tis  the  way  of  this  age  I 
I  dare  say  the  poor  child  will  die,  and  Sir  John 
too." 

"  Almost  every  one  does  die  who  has  the  fever, 
anyway,"  observed  Winifred.  "Perhaps  it  maj 


THE   FEVER.  243 

be  well  to  try  some  new  method,  since  the  old  ones 
certainly  seem  to  answer  no  good  purpose." 

"Well,  well,  'twas  not  for  that  I  came,"  said 
Dame  Evans,  pettishly.  "I  want  to  know  what 
you  mean,  Winifred,  by  staying  here  in  this  plague- 
stricken  house?  Why  did  you  not  come  home 
directly  Mrs.  Paulina  was  taken  ?  And  now  they 
say  all  the  maids  have  run  away — idle,  cowardly 
jades  !  I'll  be  bound  I'd  teach  them !  And  who  is 
to  do  anything?" 

"  Why,  aunt,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  should  have 
been  as  bad  as  the  maids,  if  I  had  gone  away  and 
left  the  family  in  their  distress!"  said  Winifred. 
"Why  not?" 

"Why  not,  gurtha!  Why,  because  they  are 
hired  servants  bound  to  stay  till  their  quarter-day, 
whatever  happens !  Do  you  mean  to  even  your- 
belf  to  a  common  serving-wench  ?" 

"  No,  and  for  that  reason  I  would  not  be  will- 
ing to  leave  in  their  trouble  a  family  who  have 
been  kind  to  me.  The  maids  are  poor,  ignorant 
creatures,  of  whom  we  cannot  expect  a  great  deaL 
I  should  not  like  to  show  that  I  am  worth  no  more 
than  they !"  added  Winifred,  smiling. 

"Well,  well!"  said  her  aunt,  somewhat  taken 
aback  by  being  thus  met  on  her  own  ground,  "  all 


244  WINIFRED. 

that  does  not  signify.  What  I  want  to  know  is, 
whether  you  will  go  out  to  Stonehill  farm  with 
us  to-morrow  or  no.  The  house  is  empty,  and 
business  here  is  dull,  besides  that  the  fever  is  al- 
ready growing  bad  down  by  the  water-side,  and 
you  uncle  hath  concluded  to  take  a  holiday  for 
once  and  go  into  the  country  for  a  month.  He 
says  that  you  shall  have  your  choice,  for  all  you 
have  behaved  so  ill,  and  are  just  as  like  as  not  to 
bring  the  fever  among  us,"  added  the  dame,  fall- 
ing into  her  usual  grumbling  strain ;  "  but  you 
must  make  up  your  mind  quickly." 

For  one  moment  Winifred's  heart  bounded.  To 
see  the  old  place  once  more — to  visit  all  the  old 
haunts  where  she  had  walked  with  her  mother — to 
2fo  over  the  Hall  and  the  gardens,  and  walk  across 
the  moor  to  Dame  Sprat's  old  cottage!  But  long 
before  Dame  Evans  had  finished  her  speech,  Wini- 
fred's mind  was  made  up. 

She  glanced  up  at  Paulina's  casement,  and  then 
at  the  window  of  the  school-room,  where  she  could 
see  the  little  girl  anxiously  watching  her.  Then 
she  thought  how  lonely  and  sad  all  the  old  haunts 
would  seem,  with  none  of  the  dear  familiar  faces — 
the  once  cheeiful  farm-house  under  the  different 
rule  of  her  aunt,  who  never  allowed  any  one  about 


THE   FEVER.  245 

her  to  be  happy  if  she  could  help  it ;  and  she  felt 
as  if  she  had  little  to  regret. 

"No,  aunt,  I  cannot  go!"  she  replied.  "  It 
would  not  be  right,  as  you  say,  to  expose  you  all  to 
the  fever,  and  besides  I  am  needed  here.  Madam 
must  needs  be  with  Sir  John,  and  Ashwell  will 
have  her  hands  full,  besides  that  she  will  not  follow 
the  doctor's  rules  in  anything.  Then  there  is 
Betty,  who  will  mind  no  one  but  me.  No,  I  do  not 
see  well  how  I  can  go." 

"  Mighty  well !"  grumbled  her  aunt,  who,  though 
inwardly  relieved  by  Winifred's  decision,  was  not 
disposed  to  let  it  pass  without  a  proper  amount  of 
fault-finding.  "  Mighty  fine,  indeed !  I  suppose 
you  learned  all  that  out  of  your  books  that  you  are 
always  poring  over  ?  To  my  mind,  such  fine  notions 
are  only  fit  for  gentlefolks — though  I  suppose  you 
think  yourself  a  gentlewoman,  as  good  as  the  best 
Look  out  for  yourself,  that  is  my  notion  !" 

"  But,  aunt,  the  Bible  "— 

"  Oh,  don't  go  talking  to  me  about  the  Bible, 
Mrs.  Winifred !"  retorted  the  dame,  not  unwilling 
to  work  herself  into  a  passion,  that  she  might  stifle 
certain  unpleasant  qualms  of  conscience.  "  The 
Bible  is  all  well  enough  for  Sundays  and  such 
like,  and  for  sick  people,  maybe  •  but  I  never  saw 
21* 


246 

any  good  come  of  those  folks  who  are  always  mak- 
ing a  fuss  about  the  Bible  and  religion.  They 
were  just  the  people  who  got  up  Monmouth's  war, 
and  made  all  that  distress.  If  there  is  anything  I 
do  despise,  it  is  a  hypocrite.  But  your  uncle  says 
you  are  to  have  your  own  way,  so  I  must  e'en  leave 
you  to  your  own  destruction  !"  added  Dame  Evans, 
in  whose  mind  existed  a  great  contention  between 
her  selfish  fears  and  her  real  affection  for  her 
niece.  "  'Twill  be  worth  a  fortune  to  you  if  you 
do  live  through  it,  that  is  one  thing,  for  the  Corbets 
are  generous  people,  and  they  will  never  forget  it 
of  you.  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  should  be  the 
making  of  you.  But  then,  if  you  should  die !" 

"  Then  I  shall  go  home,  indeed  !"  said  Winifred, 
with  her  sad  smile  ;  "  and  that  will  be  better  than 
going  to  Stonehill." 

"Mrs.  Evans,  here's  Missy  Polly  a-calling  for 
you !"  called  Jack. 

"  Ah,  the  ugly  ape !  How  any  one  can  bear"  a 
blackamoor  about  them,  I  can't  tell!"  said  Dame 
Evans,  rising. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  lovey !  Take  care  of  yourself!" 
And  her  heart  getting  for  once  the  better  of  her 
fears,  she  threw  both  her  arms  round  her  niece,  and 
kissed  her,  crying  heartily.  "Whatever  happens, 


THE   FEVER.  247 

I  will  always  say  that  you  have  been  a  good,  duti 
fu]  girl — that  you  have !  I  will  send  by  the  'pren 
tice  lad  all  your  things,  and  as  to  the  money  you 
Lave  earned  " 

"Dear  aunt,  please  keep  that,  and  buy  with  it 
the  pair  of  pewter  tankards  you  liked  so  much,  to 
remember  your  little  Winifred!  I  have  money  by 
me,  and  Lady  Corbet  will  let  me  want  for  nothing." 

"  Well,  well,  we  shall  see  about  that.  But, 
Winifred  " — turning  back  at  the  last  moment — "  is 
it  true  that  Mrs.  Paulina  has  turned  papist  ?" 

"  No,  I  should  think  not,"  answered  Winifred. 
"  I  have  seen  no  signs  of  it." 

"  Well,  all  I  know  is  that  neighbor  Joyce  says  so, 
and  pretends  that  she  had  her  news  from  her  sister 
Jones,  who  is  a  papist  herself.  Dame  Joyce  says 
she  has  been  seen  talking  with  that  Doctor  Butler 
they  make  such  a  fuss  about,  and  people  talk  of 
her  giving  him  meetings  and  going  to  confession. 
Moreover  she  is  sure  that  she  herself  saw  Mrs. 
Paulina  in  the  new  Romish  chapel  on  Ascension 
day,  whither  she  went  herself — more  shame  to  her 
— to  see  the  sights.  She  says  Mrs.  Paulina  had 
ner  hood  pulled  over  her  face,  but  she  knew  hei 
directly  1" 


248  WINIFRED. 

"  I  hardly  think  that  can  be  true.  Dame  Joj  ca 
must  be  mistaken." 

"  Not  she !  She  has  eyes  in  the  back  of  her  head, 
I  think.  Well,  farewell,  sweetheart,  and  God  bless 
thee!" 

Winifred  returned  to  the  chamber  of  her  patient, 
too  much  startled  by  what  she  had  just  heard  to 
think  as  much  as  she  would  otherwise  have  done 
of  the  parting  with  her  aunt.  She  could  not 
believe  the  story,  and  yet,  if  it  were  true,  it  ex- 
plained many  little  things  which  had  puzzled  her. 
Paulina's  severe  penances — her  evident  desire  of 
late  to  avoid  the  Bible  readings — her  self-righteous 
notions — her  reserved  and  burdened  air,  as  if  she 
had  always  something  to  conceal — all  tended  that 
way  I  Nay,  upon  that  very  Ascension-day,  Paulina 
had  refused  to  go  to  church  with  the  rest  on  the 
ground  of  a  headache,  which  excuse  was  fully 
borne  out  by  her  paleness  and  her  heavy,  downcast 
eves.  She  remembered,  too,  that,  when  they  re- 
turned, Paulina  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and 
that  by-and-by  she  had  come  in  from  the  garden, 
looking  flurried  and  flushed.  Could  it  possibly  be 
that  the  girl  was  deceiving  her  parents  and  all 
about  her  ?  And  if  so,  what  could  be  done  about 
the  matter? 


THE   FEVER.  249 

The  last  year  of  James  the  Second's  most  unfor- 
tunate reign  was  one  of  great  activity  among  that 
portion  of  the  English  Roman  Catholics — not  by  any 
means  the  most  respectable  or  intelligent  portion 
— who  with  the  king  were  guided  by  the  counsels 
of  the  Jesuits  rather  than  by  those  of  the  pope. 
"What  might  be  called  the  Country  party  believed 
with  the  pontiff  that  James  was  injuring  the  cause 
instead  of  benefiting  it,  and  that  a  reaction  must 
inevitably  follow,  which  would  leave  the  English 
Roman  Catholics  in  a  worse  position  than  ever. 
Events  proved  them  to  have  been  in  the  right  ; 
but  nothing  could  induce  the  king  or  his  advisers 
to  pause  in  their  career.  A  good  many  people 
joined  themselves  to  them,  some  from  policy,  some, 
no  doubt,  from  sincere  conviction,  and  the  new 
recruits  were  more  zealous  than  those  who  had 
grown  up  in  the  faith  from  their  childhood. 

Amongst  the  most  important  converts  in  the 
city  of  Bristol  was  the  Doctor  Butler  who  has  been 
more  than  once  mentioned.  Though  considered  a 
skilful  physician,  he  had  never  been  a  man  of  good 
character,  and  more  than  one  family  had  had  reason 
to  repent  the  confidence  placed  in  him.  Since  his 
conversion  by  Father  Hewling,  the  principal  Jesuit 
in  the  city,  he  had  professed  great  repentance  for 


250  WINIFRED. 

his  former  m;b  leeds,  and  an  equal  desire  to  atone 
for  them  by  bis  zeal  in  the  new  religion  ;  but 
Father  KeniLfcdy,  the  harmless,  good-natured  old 
secular  priest  who  had  looked  after  the  spiritual 
interests  of  the  few  old  Catholic  families  in  Bristol 
for  thirty  years,  shook  his  head  and  raised  his  eye- 
brows when  the  doctor  was  mentioned,  and  would 
not  say  one  word  in  his  favor. 

Winifred  found  Paulina  roused  from  her  stupor, 
and  raving  in  delirium,  declaring  that  Ashwell 
oaeant  to  suffocate  her.  With  some  trouble  she 
was  persuaded  to  lie  down,  and  her  face  being 
bathed  with  rose-water,  and  the  casement  opened, 
ihe  soon  became  quiet  again. 

"  Very  well,  Mrs.  Evans,  mighty  well,  indeed !" 
jaid  the  old  woman,  trembling  with  rage.  "  Only 
arhen  you  are  called  to  account  for  the  death  of 
jhat  dear  child,  don't  blame  me !  As  if  I,  that 
nursed  her  and  her  sister  from  their  birth,  and 
took  care  of  all  my  five  sisters  in  the  fever  when 
they  every  one  died,  was  to  be  taught  my  duty 
by  a  chit  like  you !" 

"  But,  Mrs.  Ashwell,  such  are  the  doctor's  orders ! 
It  is  none  of  my  doing." 

"  Yes,  you  and  your  new-fangled  doctor !  Well, 
well,  T  wash  my  hands  of  it!"  And  the  old  woman 


THE  FEVER.  251 

hobbled  down  stairs,  muttering  to  herself  that  it 
should  go  hard  but  she  would  get  better  advice  for 
her  darling — that  she  would,  indeed  ! 

All  day  long  did  Winifred  go  from  one  sick-room 
to  another,  and  from  the  kitchen  to  the  school- 
loom  An  attempt  had  been  made  to  isolate  the 
three  younger  girls,  but  it  was  found  impracticable, 
and  they  were  merely  kept  out  of  the  presence  of 
the  sufferers.  Even  this  did  not  seem  likely  to  be 
possible  for  any  great  length  of  time,  since  Sir 
John  claimed  the  whole  of  Lady  Corbet's  atten- 
tion, with  what  help  she  could  receive  from  black 
Jack  ;  and  Ashwell's  inveterate  prejudice  against 
the  doctor  made  her  worse  than  useless  in  the  sick- 
room. 

The  little  girls  were  very  good,  waiting  upon 
themselves  and  making  a  conscience  of  doing  some 
part  of  their  usual  tasks  every  day.  They  were 
very  kind  and  patient  with  Betty,  and  Betty  her- 
self, warned  by  the  violence  of  her  late  attack,  and 
helped  by  the  forbearance  with  which  she  waa 
treated,  had  fewei  "  tantrums,"  as  Ashwell  called 
them,  than  ever  before  in  her  life. 

Paulina's  case  was  the  worst  of  all.  Day  by  day 
she  sank  more  and  more  under  the  power  of  the 
disease,  her  lucid  intervals  became  fewer,  and  her 


252  WINIFRED. 

delirium  worse  in  its  character.  Doctor  Mercer 
came  to  see  her  twice  a  day,  and  sometimes  oftener, 
but  all  his  remedies  seemed  powerless  to  arrest  tho 
course  of  the  disease.  He  had  become  very  pop- 
ular among  the  poorer  class  in  the  city,  helped, 
probably,  by  the  fact  that  he  gave  away  liberally 
both  advice  and  medicine  ;  but  few  of  the  upper 
classes  employed  him,  and  by  most  of  the  medical 
fraternity  he  was  denounced  in  no  measured  terms. 
What  indeed  was  to  be  expected  of  a  man  \\ho 
would  have  the  casements  of  his  patients'  roo/ns 
opened  all  day,  and  sometimes  all  night,  uid 
allowed  the  sick  to  drink  as  much  cold  water  as 
they  desired ! 

"Well,  and  how  is  our  young  lady  to-day?''  he 
asked,  one  morning,  of  Winifred,  as  she  met  hin  at 
the  door  of  Paulina's  room. 

"  Worse  and  worse !"  said  Winifred,  with  ix  ars 
in  her  eyes.  "  She  has  not  spoken  or  shown  any 
sign  of  sense  since  midnight." 

"  Aye,  I  think  this  will  be  the  crisis,"  said  the 
doctor,  as*ho  examined  the  patient,  whose  senses 
now  appeared  closed  to  all  external  impressions, 
while  her  sunken  features  seemed  already  to  have 
assumed  the  immobility  of  death.  "  You  mubt  not 
be  discouraged,  however.  The  case  is  not  yel 


THE  FEVER.  253 

hopeless  so  long  as  she  can  swallow  ;  but  yon  must 
watch*  her  carefully,  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours 
will  decide  the  question  of  life  or  death.  I  have 
not  seen  so  bad  a  case  as  hers  among  any  of  my 
Protestant  patients." 

"  Is  the  fever,  then,  worse  among  the  papists  ?" 
asked  Winifred. 

"  The  worst  cases  I  have  met  with  seem  to  have 
been  among  those  who  were  at  the  new  Romish 
chapel  on  Ascension-day,"  replied  the  doctor.  "It 
seems  there  was  a  great  crowd,  and  the  heat  was 
intense.  I  suppose  I  have  had  at  least  twenty 
cases  which  originated  there,  all  taken  down  at 
once.  And,  by  the  way,  this  young  lady  was  at- 
tacked at  the  very  same  time.  It  can  hardly  be,  I 
suppose,  that  she  was  among  them  ?" 

Winifred  thought,  with  a  start,  of  her  aunt's 
gossip,  which  had  nearly  faded  from  her  mind. 

"I  cannot  believe  it!"  said  she.  "Lady  Corbet 
would  never  allow  such  a  thing,  and  I  cannot  think 
Mrs.  Paulina  would  deceive  her  parents.  She 
always  went  to  the  early  morning  prayers  at  the 
cathedral,  rather  against  the  will  of  her  mother, 
who,  however,  permitted  it,  partly  because  Mrs, 
Paulina  was  delicate,  and  the  walk  was  thought 
good  for  her." 

22 


254  WINIFRED. 

"  Did  she  go  alone  ?"  asked  Doctor  Mercer. 

"No,  one  of  the  inaids,  who  lately  left  us,* went 
with  her." 

"  Hath  she  ever  seemed  to  you  to  have  any  bur- 
den upon  her  mind  ?" 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  so,  especially  during 
the  two  weeks  before  she  was  taken  ill.  But  why 
do  you  ask,  Doctor  Mercer  ?  Have  you  any  sus- 
picions?" asked  Winifred. 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you  why,  but  I  certainly  have !" 
answered  Doctor  Mercer.  "  You  know  the  Jesuits 
are  making  converts  all  over  the  nation.  I  will 
not  conceal  from  you,  Mrs.  Evans,  that  I  have 
heard  some  such  reports  about  this  poor  young 
lady,  and  I  fear  she  may  have  fallen  among  the 
Philistines,  as  the  phrase  is.  But  that  is  not  our 
business  just  now.  We  will  bring  our  patient 
through  the  present  distress,  if  possible,  and  then 
we  will  see  what  can  be  done." 

Doctor  Mercer  gave  Winifred  very  particular 
directions  about  the  treatment  of  Paulina,  charging 
her  to  watch  her  most  carefully,  visited  the  other 
patients  and  pronounced  them  to  be  going  on 
favorably,  aJl  but  coaxed  old  Ashwell  into  a  good 
humor,  and  then  went  home  to  snatch  such  rest  as 
he  could  before  he  should  be  called  out  again. 


THE  FEYEB.  255 

The  day  waned  into  evening,  and  still  Paulina 
continued  apparently  unconscious  and  motionless, 
though  she  swallowed  what  was  put  into  her  mouth. 
The  hoase  grew  still  as  the  grave,  save  where  a 
mouse  squeaked  or  rattled  down  the  wall,  cr  some 
of  those  unaccountable  creaks  and  rustlings  which 
are  always  to  be  heard  by  a  watcher  in  an  old 
house,  made  themselves  audible.  The  night  drew 
towards  dawn,  and  still  there  was  no  change.  At 
last  a  bird  chirped  in  the  dark  garden  below,  and 
was  answered  by  another. 

"  Winifred!"  said  a  faint,  oh,  such  a  faint  voice 
from  the  bed,  <£  are  you  here,  Winifred  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  child  1"  answered  Winifred,  striving 
to  speak  calmly,  although  her  heart  bounded  as  if 
she  had  heard  a  voice  from  the  dead.  "  You  are 
better,  are  you  not  ?" 

"  Winifred !"  said  Paulina,  arresting  her  hand  as 
she  put  a  spoonful  of  wine  and  water  to  the  parched 
lips,  "  it  is  all  true — all  the  doctor  said  !  I  heard, 
though  I  could  not  speak.  It  is  all  true  I" 

"Do  not  talk  now,  Paulina,"  said  Winifred.  "I 
trust  you  are  better,  and  that  you  will  have  ample 
time  to  say  all  you  wish ;  but  you  must  not 
speak  now.  Your  life  depends  upon  your  keeping 
qraet" 


256  WINIFRED. 

"I  must!"  said  Paulina,  detaining  Winifred's 
band  with  more  force  than  seemed  possible  in  her 
weak  state.  "  I  shall  not  be  better  till  this  is  on* 
my  mind.  Is  my  father  living  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  going  on  well.  Your  mother  is  with 
him." 

"  My  sisters  ?" 

"  Are  all  well,  as  yet.  Dear  Paulina,  be  quiet,  I 
beseech  you !" 

"  I  tell  you,  Winifred,  I  must  speak !"  said  Paul- 
ina, almost  fiercely.  "  I  must  tell  the  truth  before  I 
die  !  Listen,  that  you  may  tell  my  parents,  if  I  do 
not  see  them  again !" 

Winifred  felt,  for  a  moment,  in  an  agony  of  inde- 
cision and  distress.  The  next,  her  own  calm,  good 
sense,  and  the  habit  of  looking  to  a  Higher  Power 
for  aid,  quieted  her,  and  she  made  up  her  mind 
what  to  do. 

"  Speak  then,  dear,  if  it  will  relieve  your  mind  ; 
but  be  short.  You  wish  to  tell  me  that  you'  were 
at  the  Koinish  chapel  on  Ascension-day  ?" 

"Yes,  and  before — many  times!" 

Paulina's  voice  was  weak,  and  she  spoke  with 
many  pauses,  but  her  words  were  clear  and  cohe- 
rent, and  her  skin  felt  cool  and  natural. 


THE   FEVER.  257 

"  When  you  thought  I  went  to  the  cathedral — I 
vent  to  the  chapel !" 

"  But  Molly  ?"  exclaimed  Winifred,  astonished. 

"  I  bribed  her.  She  waited  outside.  It  was  Doc- 
tor Butler  who  took  me  there.  I  met  him  at  my 
cousin's,  and  then  at  my  Lady  Germaine's.  They 
are  Catholics,  you  know  ;  but  she  was  not  to  blame, 
nor  Father  Kennedy.  They  said  I  was  deceiving 
my  parents — that  it  would  corne  to  no  good.  Doc- 
tor Butler  took  me  to  Father  Hewling.  They  nat- 
tered and  coaxed  me,  especially  Doctor  Butler." 

"  But  how  could  you  have  anything  to  do  with 
him  ?"  Winifred  could  not  help  saying.  "  You 
knew  what  a  bad  man  he  has  been,  and  all  the 
trouble  he  made  in  your  cousin  Chester's  family. 
It  has  been  town  talk  !" 

"I  was  a  conceited  fool!"  said  Paulina.  "He 
made  me  think  myself  a  martyr  and  a  saint,  and 
persuaded  me  to  deceive  my  mother.  I  was 
wretched  all  the  time.  I  see  all  now — all  so 
clearly  !" 

"You  mean  that  you  see  the  truth  now,"  said 
Winifred,  fearing  the  effect  of  every  word,  yet  de- 
siring, for  the  sake  of  the  poor  girl's  parents,  te 
have  something  of  comfort  to  repeat. 


258  WINTERED. 

"  Yea,  indeed — all !  Winifred,  say  those  verses 
ID  the  Communion  Service." 

Winifred's  gentle  voice  repeated  the  "  comfortable 
words."  Paulina  caught  eagerly  at  the  last  verse. 
"  Yes,  that  is  it !  He  is  the  propitiation.  It  has  all 
been  made  plain  to  me  the  last  few  hours !  I  could 
think,  though  I  could  not  speak.  Oh,  how  I  have 
been  misled !" 

"Paulina,  you  must  not  say  one  word  more!" 
said  Winifred,  with  the  authority  she  well  knew 
how  to  assume.  "  I  shall  rind  it  hard  to  answer  to 
the  doctor  for  what  has  already  passed.  Now  take 
some  more  wine,  be  silent,  and  let  me  read  you  to 
sleep. 

'•'Pray — pray!"  said  Paulina,  eagerly,  "for  for- 
giveness— that  I  may  make  amends  to  my  dear 
parents !" 

Winifred  knelt  by  the  bedside,  and  piayed  as 
desired,  and  then,  softly  repeating  psalms  and 
verses  of  Scripture,  she  had  at  last  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  her  patient  sink  into  a  quiet  sleep.  She 
herself  was  worn  out  by  watching,  and,  leaning  her 
head  upon  the  bedside,  she  slumbered  for  half  an 
hour,  starting  like  a  guilty  creature,  as  the  first 
rays  of  the  sun  aroused  her.  Full  of  terror  and  re- 
proach, she  glanced  at  her  patient.  Paulina  was 


THE  FEVER.  259 

,  her  breathing  faint  indeed,  but  regular, 
whna  a  chauge,  indescribable  save  to  those  who 
havo  uoen  it,  had  come  over  her  face. 

"Sorely,  surely  she  must  be — she  is  better  I" 
thought  Winifred.  "  Oh,  if  she  is  but  spared  after 
all!" 

She  dre  ^  the  curtain  to  shut  out  the  sun,  and  as 
she  did  so  the  sick  girl  awoke — not  as  before  to 
muttering  delirium  or  sad,  half-conscious  moaning, 
but  with  a  look  of  full  reason  and  a  faint,  but  nat- 
ural smile. 

"You  are  better,  sweetheart!"  said  Winifred, 
bending  over  her. 

"O  yes!  Surely  I  am  better!  My  mind  and 
body  are  in  most  blard  ease.  Is  this  the  lighting 
up  before  death  of  which  I  have  heard,  or  am  1 
going  to  get  well  ?"  » 

Winifred  half  feared  the  first,  and  anxiously 
did  she  await  the  doctor's  opinion.  He  came  very 
early,  with  his  soft  footstep,  and  entered  the  room 
before  she  was  aware  of  his  presence.  His  first 
look  reassured  her.. 

"  Here  is  a  change  indeed !"  said  he,  cheerily,  as 
he  examined  the  patient.  "  You  mean  to  do  ine 
credit  yet,  I  see,  my  fair  mistress." 

"  Then   she   is    really    better !"    said   Winifred, 


260  WINIFRED. 

hardly  able  to  credit  the  words  she  had  so  earnestly 
desired  to  hear. 

"Of  course!  Cannot  you  see  for  yourself  ?"  re- 
turned the  doctor,  roughly  but  kindly.  I  do  not 
say  we  are  out  of  the  woods  yet,  but  with  care  and 
good  nursing,  I  trust  we  shall  do  well." 

"  I  shall  be  sure  to  be  well  nursed  while  I  have 
Winifred !"  said  Paulina,  smiling. 

"  See  you  do  as  she  bids  you,  then.  And  look 
you,  young  lady,  I  will  have  no  talking.  I  am 
Fine  Ear  the  fairy,  and  can  tell  when  mv  patients 
are  misbehaving,  though  I  were  at  the  other  end  of 
the  town  ;  so  do  not  think  to  deceive  me  1" 

"I  will  not,"  said  Paulina,  sadly  smiling.  "I 
have  had  enough  of  that !" 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  so !"  muttered  the  doctor. 
"  Now,  IVtrs.  Winifred,  since  that  is  your  name, 
come  with  me  that  I  may  give  you  further  direc- 
tions." 

As  they  left  the  room,  they  met  Ash  well,  so  near 
the  door  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  must  have  been 
listening.  The  old  woman  trembled  visibly  as  the 
doctor's  eye  fell  upon  her,  and  seemed  as  if  she 
would  have  shrunk  out  of  sight,  but  he  called 
her. 

"  See  here,  Dame  Ashwell !     Do  you  sit  by  Mrs, 


THE   FEVLR.  2(51 

Paulina  awhile,  and  let  our  other  nurse  rest  for  a 
few  minutes.  Give  her  the  wine  and  water  every 
half  hour,  and  do  not  let  her  talk. — I  believe  that 
old  woman  has  a  hand  in  this  business !"  he  added, 
as  they  passed  on  down-stairs.  "I  saw  her  last 
uight,  as  I  came  down  the  street,  talking  with  But- 
ler at  the  garden  gate." 

"  I  cannot  think  so,"  said  Winifred.  "  She  is  a 
zealous  Protestant.  She  has  talked  sometimes  of 
getting  better  advice  for  her  young  lady,  for  she  is 
as  much  alarmed  as  my  aunt  at  the  fresh  air  and 
cold  water.  It  might  be  that  which  took  her  to 
Doctor  Butler." 

"  Possibly.  Well,  Mrs.  Evans,  I  have  run  the 
fox  to  earth  at  last,  I  do  believe !  I  have  heard  the 
whole  tale  of  Mrs.  Paulina's  church-goings." 

"  And  so  have  I,"  said  Winifred. 

"  Indeed !     From  whom  ?" 

"  From  the  culprit  herself."  And  Winifred  re- 
peated what  had  passed,  adding  :  "  I  feared  it  was 
wrong  to  let  her  talk,  but  I  saw  that  she  would 
never  rest  while  it  was  on  her  mind." 

"  You  acted  sensibly,  as  usual.  Well,  you  mus»i 
know,  I  was  called  last  night,  as  soon  as  I  left  here; 
to  see  a  poor  woman  not  far  from  the  water-side. 
T  knew  the  moment  I  set  eyes  on  her  that  she  had 


2G2  WINIFRED. 

not  a  chance,  and  I  suppose  she  read  it  in  my  ft*ce, 
for  she  fell  a-screaniing  and  crying,  and  calling  for  a 
clergyman,  that  she  might  free  her  mind.  I  sent  a 
lad  for  Mr.  Gunnison,  who  hath  been  unwearied  in 
visiting  the  poor  (as  I  mast  say,  so  have  most  of 
the  city  clergy),  but  he  had  gone  out,  so  I  was 
fain  to  do  what  I  could  to  take  his  place,  at  least 
RO  far  as  to  comfort  the  poor  creature  by  Scripture 
and  prayers.  But  she  said  she  must  tell  what  was 
on  her  mind,  and  at  last  out  it  came — that  she  had 
been  bribed  by  Mrs.  Paulina  and  Doctor  Butler 
both,  to  be  a  sort  of  go-between  ;  that  she  had 
carried  messages,  and  had  gone  with  Paulina  to 
chapel  when  her  friends  supposed  her  at  church  ; 
and  she  feared  she  had  been  the  ruin  of  her  dear 
young  lady.  I  was  startled  at  first,  and  did  not 
know  what  to  fear,  but  she  guessed  my  thought, 
and  eagerly  assured  me  that  I  was  mistaken  ;  that 
Mrs.  Paulina  had  never  been  alone  with  the  man 
nor  with  the  priest,  but  would  always  have  her 
near  though  not  to  hear  what  they  said.  She  beg- 
ged me  to  ask  forgiveness  of  Sir  John  and  Lady 
Corbet,  who,  she  said,  had  ever  been  good  to  her, 
and  of  Mrs.  Paulina  ;  and  died  at  last,  poor  thing, 
in  great  distress,  tl*  ough  I  believe  sincerely  poni- 
tent." 


THE  FEVER.  2G3 

"  Poor  Molly  !"  said  Winifred.  *'  She  was  a 
great  favorite  with  madam  and  with  Ashwell,  but 
she  was  the  first  to  desert  us.  I  am  heartily  glad 
the  truth  has  come  out  in  time  to  save  fur  the* 
mischief.  But  is  it  not  strange  that  my  old  Lady 
Germaine,  who  has  always  been  a  friend  to  this 
family,  should  not  have  told  Lady  Corbet  what 
was  going  on  ?" 

"  She  hardly  dared  go  as  far  as  that,  I  suppose," 
remarked  the  doctor.  "  I  believe  many  of  the  old 
Catholic  families  are  grieved  and  distressed  at  the 
present  state  of  things,  and  their  position  is  a  very 
painful  one  ;  for  of  course,  if  they  say  a  word,  they 
are  taxed  by  the  zealous  party  as  being  lukewarm 
and  betrayers  of  the  Church.  Truly  this  nation  is 
in  evil  case !  Are  you  feeling  quite  well  this  morn- 
ing ?"  he  asked,  changing  the  subject  abruptly  and 
scrutinizing  Winifred's  face  closely. 

"  I  feel  more  tired  than  usual,  and  my  head 
seems  both  drowsy  and  confused,"  replied  Winifred. 
4 1  suppose  it  conies  from  want  of  sleep." 

"I  should  not  wonder,"  returned  the  doctor, 
dryly.  "Few  people  learn  to  do  without  sleep 
altogether,  though  we  doctors  come  near  to  it  in 
these  times.  You  must  lie  down  this  morning  and 
have  a  good  nap.  I  do  not  quite  like  trusting 


264  WINIFRED. 

Ashwell  with  our  patient,  either,  but  I  see  no 
for  it." 

"Doctor  Mercer,"  said  Winifred,  gravely,  "I 
think  we  should  call  Lady  Corbet  and  tell  her  all 
we  know  of  this  distressful  matter.  She  is  a  lady 
of  great  sense  and  discernment  where  her  children 
are  concerned,  and  will  know  what  is  the  best 
course  in  the  present  conjuncture." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right.  The  straight  course  is 
best  in  the  end  ;  and  though  I  dread  adding  to  her 
burdens,  I  think,  with  you,  that  she  should  know 
the  whole." 

Lady  Corbet  was  therefore  called  out  of  Sir 
John's  room,  and  Winifred  related  the  story,  in- 
terrupced  by  many  tears  and  exclamations  of 
distress  and  wonder  from  the  poor  mother. 

"That  I  should  have  been  so  deceived  by  my 
own  child,  whom  I  believed  to  be  the  pattern  of 
truth,  for  all  her  peevish  ways !  And  my  old  Lady 
Germaine,  that  I  thought  such  a  friend !" 

"I  imagine  she  had  little  free-will,"  remarked 
the  doctor. 

"  To  be  sure,  I  remember  now  she  hath  of  late 
fciven  me  many  hints  as  to  letting  the  girls  go  out 
without  me,  and  allowing  them  so  much  liberty/* 
resumed  Lady  Corbet  ;  "  but  she  is  always  giviug 


THE   FEVER.  265 

A-lvice,  pooi  old  lady,  and  she  thinks  the  youag 
women  of  the  present  day  are  allowed  too  much 
license.  And  Molly,  whom  I  thought  such  a  good 
girl  1  And  that  wretch,  Doctor  Butler !  Well, 
fchank  Heaven,  Mrs.  Winifred,  I  have  you  and  Ash- 
well  left,  and  upon  you  I  can  depend  I" 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  Ashwell,"  said  the  doctor, 
and  he  related  what  he  had  seen  tho  evening  before 
Lady  Corbet  wrung  her  hands  in  renewed  distress, 
but,  suddenly  collecting  herself,  she  spoke  with 
much  dignity  and  feeling. 

"  I  thank  you,  Doctor  Mercer,  and  you,  Winifred, 
for  the  way  in  which  you  have  dealt  in  this  delicate 
matter.  I  need  not  say  how  necessary  it  is  for  my 
poor  child's  sake,  that  nothing  should  transpire 
out  of  the  family  more  than  has  already.  I  wil? 
myself  stay  with  Pall,  while  Winifred  rests.  Jack 
dan  easily  do  all  which  is  needed  for  Sir  John,  who 
sleeps  almost  all  the  time.  You,  Winifred,  will  go 
to  your  own  room  and  take  a  good  rest,  which  I 
am  certain  you  need.  God  bless  you,  my  dear! 
It  was  a  happy  day  which  brought  you  to  this 
ho^e" 

Ashwell  had  established  herself  in  Paulina's  rocin, 
and  was  evidently  taken  very  much  aback  by  her 
lady's  orders  "  to  betake  herself  to  the  kitchen,  see 
23 


266  \VIK1FIIED. 

that  things  wore  made  decent  and  comfortable, 
and  have  Sir  John's  broth  ready  against  he  needed 
it."  She  began  to  say  something  about  Jack's 
making  the  broth,  but  was  cut  very  short,  and 
went  down-stairs,  muttering  to  herself  as  usual. 

"Not  a  word,  my  poor  maid!"  said  Lady  Corbet, 
as  Paulina  began  to  speak.  "I  have  heard  all. 
and  you  have  my  full  and  free  pardon,  so  long  a& 
you  do  not  attempt  to  deceive  me  again.  I  take 
blame  to  myself  as  a  careless  mother  " 

"  No,  no !"  interrupted  Paulina.  "  It  was  mj 
pride  and  self-conceit — thinking  myself  wiser  thar 
all  the  world!" 

"Well,  well,  we  will  let  by-gones  be  by-gone? 
as  your  father  s  Scotch  cousin  hath  it,"  said  hei 
mother,  smiling,  and  kissing  her.  "I  will  not 
deny  that  you  have  always  been  somewhat  prone 
to  be  wiser  than  your  elders,  since  you  used  to 
advise  me  upon  household  matters  before  you 
could  speak  plain.  Show  that  you  have  learn  i 
more  wisdom  by  obeying  the  doctor's  orders,  and 
not  trying  to  talk  when  you  are  forbid  to  speak  a 
word!  There,  that  smile  is  more  like  my  own 
little  Pall  than  aught  I  have  seen  this  many  a 
day." 

Winifred  had  a  long  and  deep  sleep,  and  awoke 


THE  FT?.>ER.  267 

feeling  somewhat  giddy  and  confused.  A  plenti- 
ful ablution  of  cold  water  and  the  process  of  dress- 
ing refreshed  her.  Startled  to  find  by  the  striking 
of  the  clock  how  long  she  had  slept,  she  went 
straight  down  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  where 
she  was  amazed  at  finding  Ashwell  drowned  in 
tears  and  sobs.  Her  first  thought  was  that  Paul- 
ina was  worse,  perhaps  dying. 

"  No,  no  I"  sobbed  Ashwell.  "  Poor  dear,  she  is 
better,  if  I  have  not  killed  her!  But  oh,  Mrs. 
Winifred,  intercede  with  my  lady  for  me.  I  meant 
no  harm,  and  if  I  had  but  known  that  he  was 
trying  to  make  a  papist  of  Mrs.  Pall,  1  would 
never  have  come  near  him  ;  but  I  thought  tho 
doctor  was  killing  her,  and  the  windows  open  and 

all" 

Ashwell  became  totally  incoherent,  and  hei 
words  were  drowned  in  sobs. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Ashwell  ?"  asked  Winifred, 
bewildered.  "  What  has  happened  ?" 

It  was  not  easy  to  get  at  the  story,  but  at  last 
Winifred  extracted  from  the  weeping  old  woman, 
that,  being  dissatisfied  with  the  new  doctor's  treat- 
ment, she  had  been  holding  secret  conferences 
with  Doctor  Butler  as  to  her  darling's  health,  and 
had  finally  undertaken  to  introduce  him  into  the 


1268  WINIFRED. 

house,  that  he  might  judge  of  the  patient' 3  state. 
She  had  calculated  very  nicely  that  she  would  be 
called  upon  to  sit  with  her  young  lady  while  Wini- 
fred rested,  and  Lady  Corbet  was  busy  with  Sir 
John  and  making  her  morning  visit  to  the  school- 
room. She  had  agreed  with  Doctor  Butler  to  be 
in  the  garden  at  that  hour,  when  she  would  bring 
him  in  by  the  little  turret  staircase  which  opened 
near  Paulina's  room. 

All  these  plans  had  been  disconcerted  by  the 
straightforward  counsels  of  Winifred  and  the 
doctor,  and  also  by  a  very  simple  accident.  Paul- 
ina had  expressed  a  wish  for  some  flowers,  and  her 
mother,  always  kind  and  desirous  by  every  means 
in  her  power  to  show  that  she  had  fully  forgiven 
the  poor  child,  went  down  to  the  garden  to  gather 
them.  In  so  doing,  she  came  upon  Ashwell  in 
close  conference  with  Butler,  and  heard  enough  of 
their  conversation  to  discover  their  design.  She 
bad  confronted  them  on  the  spot,  ordered  Butler 
from  the  premises,  and  taken  possession  of  the 
keys  of  the  gate  ;  and  had  then  sternly  given  Ash- 
well  warning,  saying  she  would  have  no  traitora 
about  her.  The  poor  old  soul,  who  had  been  to- 
ta^y  innocent  of  any  connivance  at  the  doctor's 
proselyting  schemes,  was  th under- stri  ck  at  the 


THE  FEVER.  209 

treachery  of  her  ally  and  the  anger  of  her  lady, 
and  implored  Winifred  to  intercede  for  her. 
Winifred,  thankful  that  the  matter  was  no  worse, 
soothed  and  quieted  her,  promised  to  see  what 
could  be  done,  persuaded  Ash  well  to  busy  herself  in 
sending  up  an  unusually  dainty  dinner  to  the 
school-room,  ana  nnally  left  her  in  a  tolerably  rea- 
sonable and  comfortable  frame  of  mind.  It  was 
long  before  Lady  Corbet  would  listen  to  any  plea 
on  her  behalf,  but  at  last  her  own  good-nature  and 
Winifred's  influence  prevailed,  and  she  was  brought 
to  tell  Ashwell  that,  for  the  sake  of  Mrs.  Evans' 
intercession,  she  would  pass  over  the  present 
offence.  It  was  a  bitter  pill  to  poor  Ashwell,  after 
all  her  years  of  service,  to  be  forgiven  for  the  sake 
of  one  on  whom  she  had  always  looked  with  jeal- 
ousy and  contempt ;  but  love  for  her  lady  and  her 
nurselings  prevailed  over  every  other  consideration. 
It  was  well  that  it  was  so  ;  for  the  very  next  day 
poor  little  Betty  was  attacked  with  the  fever,  and 
died  after  only  a  week's  illness  ;  and  on  the  day  of 
her  burial,  Winifred  was  taken  with  the  same  dis- 
ease, and  was  declared  by  the  doctor  to  be  in  the 
utmost  danger.  Her  system  was  prostrated  by  all 
the  fatigue  she  had  undergone,  and  it  would  be  all 
but  a  miracle  if  she  lived  through  it. 
23* 


CHAPTER    XV|. 


SUE  PR  I8E8. 

MOKE  than  two  months  had  paao^/i  ,iwace  the 
date  of  the  last  chapter.  The  hoaeehold  oi 
Sir  John  Corbet  had  returned  to  its  old,  regular 
routine.  New  servants  had  replaced  the  old. 
Sir  John  once  more  went  to  his  office  and  wharf, 
and  superintended  his  workmen  ;  and  his  lady,  like 
the  wise  dame  of  the  Scriptures,  .looked  well  to  the 
ways  of  her  household,  and,  wLile  s'ae  made  sure 
that  nobody  from  herself  to  the  knifo-boy  ate  the 
bread  of  idleness,  took  more  pains  than  ever  that 
every  one  under  her  roof  si  ould  be  happy  and 
contented.  In  the  school-room  there  was  a  great 
change.  Poor  little  Betty,  with  her  moods  and 
tonses,  her  alternations  of  high  and  low  spirits,  her 
unmanageable  "  tantrums,"  and  her  almost  equally 
Unmanageable  fits  of  penitence,  was  gone,  and  the 
(270) 


8UIUTJSL8.  271 

twins,  Phillis  and  Jemima,  could  only  weep  over 
every  little  memorial  of  their  departed  sister,  and 
declare  to  each  other  that  they  would  never,  no, 
never  tease  anybody  again!  Paulina,  still  pale 
and  thin,  and  showing  signs  of  recent  illness  in  hex 
hollow  eyes  and  close-cropped  hair,  had  taken 
present  charge  of  the  school-room,  and  was  hear- 
ing her  sisters'  lessons,  finding  out  every  day  how 
much  less  she  knew  than  she  supposed,  discovering 
the  mighty  difference  which  existed  between  the 
real  crosses  of  her  reduced  strength  and  the  daily 
trials  of  temper  and  patience  in  the  school-room, 
and  those  artificial  crosses  she  used  to  manufacture 
for  herself.  Nevertheless,  she  went  on  bravely, 
doing  her  best,  and  making  herself  more  useful 
and  agreeable  than  she  had  ever  done  before. 
But  Paulina  had  a  cross  to  bear  far  harder  than 
any  petty  trials  of  the  school-room — a  cross  all  the 
sharper  because  she  had  brought  it  upon  herself 
jud  her  father  and  mother,  who  shared  the  burden 
with  her.  The  affair  with  Doctor  Butler  had  taken 
wing,  as  was  to  be  expected,  and  the  whole  city  of 
Bristol  rang  with  the  stories  of  Paulina's  stolen 
interviews  with  him,  at  chapel  and  elsewhere,  and 
of  the  attempt  to  introduce  him  into  her  room 
Who  had  chattered  in  the  last  case  nobody  knew 


272  "WIKIFHED. 

hut  the  scandal  had  gone  abroad,  distorted  and 
exaggerated  in  a  hundred  forms.  Paulina  never 
stirred  away  from  home,  save  under  her  mother's 
wing,  and  then  only  to  church  ;  but  even  there  she 
felt  herself  the  mark  for  curious  eyes  and  whispers* 
while  her  mother  had  to  encounter  condolences 
and  questions  from  all  her  acquaintances.  More- 
over, Paulina  was  not  safe  even  yet  from  persecu- 
tion. It  had  indeed  been  found  expedient  for 
Doctor  Butler  to  leave  town  ;  but  the  priests  had 
no  notion  of  giving  up  their  victim  so  easily,  and 
more  than  one  letter  had  been  conveyed  to  Paulina, 
now  pitying  her  as  a  martyr  under  persecution, 
now  threatening  her  as  a  relapsed  heretic.  Mean- 
time a  cloud  rested  upon  her  reputation.  None  of 
her  young  friends  visited  her  or  invited  her,  and 
Lady  Corbet  was  blamed  for  permitting  her  to 
take  the  charge  of  her  young  sisters.  Her  father 
had  been  furiously  angry  upon  hearing  the  story, 
and,  though  he  had  been  brought  to  say  at  last  that 
he  forgave  her,  he  was  hard  and  stern  toward  her, 
and  showed  her  constantly  that  she  was  distrusted 
and  watched.  Her  mother  was  kindness  itself  ;^ 
but  a  heavy  cloud  of  sadness  rested  upon  her  once 
cheery  face,  and  her  voice,  when  she  ppoke  t<*- 
Paulina,  had  a  tone  of  grief  and  pity. 


SURPRISES.  273 

All  this  was  very  hard  to  bear — far  harder  than 
the  fasting,  the  lying  upon  the  floor,  and  all  the 
o  tner  penances  Paulina  had  been  accustomed  to 
practise  ;  harder  than  the  being  obliged  to  give 
her  attention  to  her  work  and  pick  it  out  when  it 
was  wrong  ;  than  being  reproved  for  stooping  hei 
shoulders  or  poking  her  chin,  or  having  her  shoos 
down  at  heel  and  her  petticoats  draggled.  Nor 
was  this  the  hardest,  after  all.  It  was  with  inex- 
pressible bitterness  that  Paulina  heard  of  Doctor 
Butler's  attempt  to  enter  her  room,  and  of  his 
departure  from  the  city,  and  learned  from  the 
pain  the  news  gave  her  that  her  affections  were  no 
longer  in  her  own  keeping.  Any  woman  worthy 
of  the  name  must  feel  a  sensation  of  in  tensest 
shame  and  anguish,  when  she  finds  herself  loving 
one  who  does  not  care  for  her,  even  though  that 
one  may  be  in  every  way  worthy  ;  and  the  shame 
i&  increased  twofold  if  the  object  prove  utterly 
base.  This  was  Paulina's  case.  She  loved  Doctor 
Butler,  and  she  knew  him  to  be  a  base,  bad  man — ' 
one  who  had  destroyed  the  peace  and  reputation 
of  more  than  one  woman,  and  who  might,  but  fcr 
what  seemed  the  special  interference  of  Providence, 
have  done  the  same  for  her. 

She  recalled  a  hundred  things  whieh  might  have 


274  WINIFBED. 

shown  her  her  danger,  and  she  felt  a  sense  of 
gratitude  to  poor  Molly,  who  had  been  so  far  faith- 
ful that  she  had  never  let  her  young  mistress  out 
of  her  sight.  She  said  to  herself  that  her  love  was 
unworthily  placed,  and  must  be  conquered  ;  but 
the  task  was  a  hard  ont,  and  the  poor  girl  was  in- 
deed very  unhappy.  , 

Yet  it  somehow  happened  that  the  real  trials  did 
not  fret  Paulina's  temper  or  wear  out  her  patience  as 
the  imaginary  ones  had  done.  She  was  sad  indeed, 
and  often  much  depressed,  but  she  was  no  longer 
fretful  or  peevish  ;  she  no  longer  wore  her  set, 
self-conscious  expression,  or  spoke  and  moved  like 
an  automaton.  She  had  found  the  secret  of  peace. 
In  the  time  of  her  trouble  she  had  sought  the 
Lord,  and  found  in  Him  not  only  forgiveness  and 
remission  of  sin,  but  strength  to  resist  temptation, 
fco  bear  suffering  with  patience  and  humility.  Hei 
service  was  no  longer  one  of  constraint  and  fear 
but  of  love — -no  longer  the  enforced  task  of  a  slavo, 
but  the  free  gift  of  a  child. 

The  twins,  on  their  part,  sobered  by  the  trouble 
they  had  passed  through,  and  pitying  Paulina  for 
the  sorrow  they  only  half  understood,  did  their 
best,  both  in  work  and  lessons,  to  please  their  sister 
and  mother  ;  and  the  school- room  labors  went  on 


275 

harmoniously  and  pleasantly  enough  for  the  most 
part,  though  now  and  then  was  heard  a  deep  sigh 
or  an  impatient  interjection,  always  followed  by 
the  exclamation  :  "  I  do  wish  Mrs.  Winifred  would 
get  well,  don't  you,  Pall?"  answered  by,  "Yes, 
indeed  I  do,  with  all  my  heart !" 

And  where,  all  this  time,  was  Mrs.  Winifred? 
In  the  great  chintz  bedroom,  the  very  best  room 
in  the  house,  whither  she  had  been  carried  by 
Lady  Corbet's  orders  when  stricken  down  with 
the  fever,  waited  upon  and  tended  by  every  one, 
from  Sir  John  himself  down  to  black  Jack  ;  nursed 
with  jealous  care  by  Ashwell,  and  visited  by  Doctor 
Mercer  every  day,  and  by  Paulina  every  hour. 
She  had  passed  the  crisis  of  the  disease,  contrary 
to  everybody's  expectation,  and  Doctor  Mercer 
said  there  seemed  no  reason  why  she  should  not 
get  well ;  but  day  after  day  passed,  and  still  she 
lay  on  her  couch  or  leaned  back  languidly  in  the 
great  chair,  pale,  thin,  and  weak,  unable  to  eat,  to 
talk,  to  employ  herself  in  any  way  more  than  a 
few  minutes  at  a  time.  It  seemed  as  if  the  excite- 
ment and  fatigue  of  nearly  three  years  past  had 
made  themselves  felt  all  at  once.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  Winifred  lost  the  control  of  her 
own  mind  and  feelings.  She  could  not  th ink  clearlv 


276  WINIFRED. 

of  anything  for  five  minutes  at  a  time.  She  could 
not  fix  her  mind  upon  the  things  she  had  always 
loved  best  ;  or  drive  away  the  sadness,  the  discon- 
tent, the  wretched  forebodings,  the  distrust  of  her 
heavenly  Father's  love,  the  doubts  of  His  truth 
which  assailed  her.  Good  Mr.  Gunnison,  who  was 
instructing  the  twins  preparatory  to  their  approach- 
ing confirmation,  talked  and  prayed  with  her,  and 
in  these  visits  Winifred  found  great  comfort  ;  but 
too  often  "  the  clouds  returned  after  the  rain,"  the 
temptations  and  the  grief  came  back  again,  and  the 
work  wras  once  more  all  to  do.  Meantime,  the 
weak  body  languished  and  lost  day  by  day,  and  it 
seemed  likely  enough  that  Winifred  would  fade 
away  and  drop  into  the  earth  with  the  fading 
flowers  of  autumn.  But  her  work  was  not  yet 
done,  and  she  could  not  go  home  till  it  was 
finished. 

One  day  she  wras  leaning  back  listlessly  enough 
in  the  chair  which  Ashwell  had  drawn  to  the  win- 
dow, that  Winifred  might  look  down  on  the  still 
gay  garden  and  away  to  the  hills  beyond  the  city. 
She  had  wearied  herself  in  the  attempt  to  set  right 
the  piece  of  work  which  the  twins  in  a  fit  of  des- 
peration had  brought  to  show  her,  and  had  not 
half  finished,  when  Aehwell  came  in,  scolded  them 


SURPRISES.  277 

Doth  well,  and  sent  the  girls  down,  Phj/Jis  crying 
and  Jemima  in  a  fit  of  sulks,  to  get  out  of  their 
difficulty  as  best  they  could.  Winifred  felt  tired, 
disappointed,  and  utterly  discouraged ;  and  as 
soon  as  Ashwell  had  left  her,  she  leaned  back  in 
her  chair,  and  gave  way  to  a  fit  of  wee  ping  as 
childish  as  that  of  poor  Phyllis. 

The  tears  at  least  did  her  some  good,  for  she 
sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  and  awaked  somewhat 
refreshed  and  strengthened,  and  really  feeling  a 
little  wonder  as  to  what  time  it  was  and  whether 
Ashwell  would  be  coining  presently  with  her  dinner. 
She  had  been  dreaming  of  old  times  at  the  Hall 
— of  walking  with  my  lady  and  working  with  Mrs. 
Al  wright.  The  dream  was  very  clear  and  distinct ; 
she  almost  felt  as  though  Lady  Peckham's  inquiry 
was  still  ringing  in  her  ear  :  "  And  where  is  my 
little  Winifred?"  There  seemed  a  good  deal  of 
bustle  in  the  house  which  she  could  not  under- 
stand -  and  then,  why  did  not  Ashwell  come  ? 

The  door  opened.  It  was  not  Ashwell  with  the 
tray,  however,  but  Paulina,  with  a  little  flush  of 
color  in  her  cheeks,  and  a  certain  excitement  in 
her  manner.  She  came  to  Winifred's  chair  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Do  you  /eel  bettor  ?  I  peeped  in  a  few  momenta 
24 


WINIFRED. 

ago*  and  you  were  fast  asleep  in  your  chair,  with 
the  tears  on  your  cheeks !  What  had  you  been 
crying  for,  you  naughty  child?  Like  Phyllis,  be- 
cause Ashwell  scolded  you?" 

"I  hardly  know  myself,"  returned  "Winifred, 
winking  away  the  tears  which  would  stay  very  near 
her  eyes.  "  I  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  girls,  and 
vexed  at  myself  for  being  so  easily  tired.  But, 
Paulina,  if  they  will  bring  up  their  frames  now,  I 
will  try  to  show  them." 

"You  are  to  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Paulina, 
positively.  "The  frames  can  wait,  and  I  have 
something  else  to  set  you  upon  just  now  besides 
tapestry  work." 

"  Why,  Paulina,  what  has  come  over  you?"  said 
Winifred,  rousing  herself  and  looking  at  the  girl 
with  attention.  "You  look  as  though  you  had 
been  hearing  some  great  piece  of  good  news  \" 

"Suppose  I  have — do  you  want  to  hear  it?" 

Winifred's  heart  began  to  beat  fast,  and  shti 
looked  at  Paulina  without  speaking. 

"  Suppose  now  I  could  bring  the  person  in  all 
the  world  you  most  wanted  to  see, — whom  sbould 
it  be  ?n  asked  Paulina. 

Winifred  flushed  scarlet  all  ai.  once,  for  the  name 
which  came  to  her  lips  was  that  of  Arthur  Carow 


SURPRISES.  279 

Then,  as  her  dream  came  across  her  mind,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  Paulina,  tell  me !  Have  you  news  of  my 
lady?"  Then  as  Paulina  nodded  mischievously, 
with  her  eyes  full  of  smiles  and  her  mouth  de- 
murely pursed  up  :  "  Paulina,  tell  me !  Don't 
tease  me,  please!" 

"It  shall  not  be  teased,  then,"  said  Paulina. 
"It  shall  be  made  to  look  pretty,  and  neat,  and 
have  on  its  new  cap,  and  then  it  shall  see  what  it 
shall  see." 

"No,  no,  Paulina!"  said  a  voice  at  the  half- 
opened  door.  "  You  shall  rot  keep  us  waiting  any 
longer.  Winifred,  my  dear,  my  darling  child !" 

It  was  the  voice  of  her  dream.  Winifred 
stretched  out  her  arms  with  a  cry  liko  that  of  a 
child  which  sees  its  mother.  She  saw  the  well- 
known  face,  looking  more  delicate  than  ever  under 
the  close  widow's  coif  and  veil,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Alwright's  tall,  spare  form  behind  her  mistress, 
heard  a  little  cry  of  alarm  from  Paulina,  and  that 
was  the  last  she  knew,  till  she  found  herself  lying 
on  the  bed,  with  Mrs.  Alwright  bathing  her  face, 
and  Lady  Peckham  and  Paulina  watching  her. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  meeting  be- 
tween Winifred  and  her  oldest  friend,  nor  the 
raptures  of  Alwright  over  her  former  pupil.  At 


280  WINIFEED. 

last  Lady  Peckham  yielded  to  her  cousin's  hospi- 
table entreaties,  and  descended  to  partake  of  the 
feast  Lady  Corbet  had  prepared  for  her,  and  Wini- 
fred was  left  in  charge  of  Alwright,  who  insisted 
upon  cutting  her  dinner,  and  would  gladly  have 
been  allowed  to  put  it  into  her  mouth. 

"  No,  indeed,  dear  Alwright,  I  can  feed  myself 
very  well,"  said  Winifred.  "  I  feel  better  than  for 
a  long  time  past,  though  I  was  so  silly  as  to  faint 
Sit  you  there  where  I  can  look  at  you,  and  tell  me 
all  the  news.  I  see  my  lady  is  a  widow!  When 
did  Sir  Edward  die?" 

"  At  Home,  whither  we  went  in  the  train  of  my 
Lord  Castlewaine  the  ambassador — and  pretty  com- 
pany he  was!"  said  Alwright,  in  disgust.  "You 
know,  my  dear,  between  ourselves,  Sir  Edward  was 
always  inclined  to  side  with  whichever  party  was 
uppermost.  So,  after  we  went  to  London  and  to 
court,  he  began  to  look  the  way  the  king's  pa-rty 
did — toward  Eome,  you  know.  He  did  not  really 
go  over,  and  perhaps  he  never  meant  to  do  so,  but 
he  read  their  books,  and  went  to  the  chapel,  and 
all  that.  So,  when  this  embassy  was  sent  out,  Sir 
Edward  must  needs  go  along.  It  was  a  grief  to 
my  lady,  though  he  made  her  health  one  reason  for 


SURPRISES.  281 

the  journey,  but  you  know  she  never  opposed  her 
husband." 

"Perhaps  his  majesty  thought  the  journey  tc 
Home  would  finish  Sir  Edward's  conversion,"  said 
Winifred. 

"  And  so  it  did,  indeed,  my  dear,  but  it  was  the 
wrong  way.  Sir  Edward  saw  and  heard  so  mairj 
things  that  no  true  English  gentleman  could 
swallow,  that  he  became  disgusted  with  the  whole 
concern.  Then  he  took  one  of  the  fevers  they  have 
there,  and  died  in  a  few  days.  The  priests  came 
about  him,  and  would  have  it  that  he  died  in  the 
Church  of  Home,  but  it  was  no  such  thing.  And 
then,  my  lady  was  very  ill  ^and  feeble  for  a  long 
time  after,  so  we  could  not  leave  when  my  Lord 
Castlewaine  did — more  by  token,  they  say  the 
pope  never  showed  him  the  least  bit  of  favor,  after 
all.  I  must  say,  some  of  the  foreign  papists  were 
very  good  to  us — I  shall  always  remember  it  of 
tliem,  I  am  sure — but  oh,  Winifred,  if  .you  could 
only  see  the  cooking,  and  the  smells,  and  the  old 
women!  Well,  my  lady  got  better,  at  last,  and 
then  we  came  home  as  quickly  as  we  could." 

"I  tried  every  way  to  hear  from  you,"  said 
Winifred,  "but  I  could  not  learn  where  Sir  Edward 
had  gone.  When  I  first  came  here,  I  heard  thuf 
24* 


282  WINIFRED. 

Lady  Corbet  was  cousin  to  my  lady,  and  hoped  to 
get  news  from  her  ;  but  she  could  only  tell  me 
that  my  Lord  Carew  was  dead,  and  my  lady,  she 
thought,  was  still  abroad." 

"Yes,  the  poor  gentleman  is  dead  at  last,  and  a 
good  thing,  too,  for  himself  and  everybody 
Master  Arthur  is  Lord  Carew  now.  Much  good  it 
does  him,  since  he  cannot  come  home  to  enjoy 
it!" 

"And  where  is  Master  Arthur — I  mean,  my 
lord?"  asked  Winifred,  suddenly  very  busy  with 
her  boiled  chicken. 

"He  has  been  all  this  time  in  far-away  parts, 
fighting  the  Turks,  that  they  say  the  King  of  France 
has  brought  upon  Christendom  again.  But  now 
he  hath  returned  to  Holland,  and  is  in  the  service 
of  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Orange,  God  bless 
them!" 

"  But  how  did  you  find  me  out,  and  why  did  mj 
lady  never  answer  the  letter  I  sent  her  by  Joseph 
the  groom,  after  my  mother  died?  Oh,  Mrs. 
Alvvright,  if  you  knew  how  I  wearied  for  an  an- 
swer to  that  letter !" 

"  Aye,  aye,  poor  maid !"  said  Alwright,  sympa- 
thetically. "  I  can  guess  well.  '  Hope  deferred 
maketh  the  heart  sick-'  But  the  letter  never 


SURPRISES.  283 

reached,  i^y  lady.  Joseph  did  not  get  to  London 
till  after  we  had  set  out  for  Rome.  As  soon  as  we 
came  back  to  the  Hall,  my  lady's  first  inquiry  was 
for  you,  and  sacUy  disappointed  we  were  to  learn 
that  the  family  wa^  broken  up,  and  you  were  gone 
no  one  knew  where. " 

"  Your  brother  knew,  and  Dame  Oldmixon." 
"  Yes,  but  neither  ot  them  were  at  Holford.  A 
gentleman  my  brother  knew  at  college  has  given 
him  a  fine  living  away  off  in  the  North,  somewhere 
about  Durham.  And  Dame  Oldmixon  has  gone  to 
live  with  some  of  her  kin.  So  we  could  find  out 
nothing  from  them.  Then  my  lady  left  the  Hall 
for  good,  and  we  went  to  Exeter,  where  we  have — 
I  mean,  my  lady  has  a  fine  old  house,  as  good  as 
this.  And  the  heir  has  new  furnished  the  Hall, 
and  given  my  lady  a  deal  of  the  old  furniture,  so 
you  will  see  the  place  looking  very  natural,  though^ 
to  be  sure,  we  have  not  the  Hall  garden  to  walk 
in." 

"But  how  did  you  find  me  out  at  last  ?" 
"  Oh,  my  lady  was  wanted  at  the  Hall  on  some 
business.  I  ir.ust  say  the  new  family  are  very 
civil,  and  treated  her  as  though  she  were  the  he/id 
of  the  house  still.  So  we  went  out  to  visit  all  the 
old  places,  and  among  the  rest  the  Stonehill  farm. 


WINIFRED. 

And  there  we  found  your  uncle  and  aunt — a  stirring, 
notable  daine  she  seems,  but  no  more  like  your 
dear  mother  than  a  houseleek  is  like  a  buiich  of 
violets.  She  told  us  that  you  had  gone  to  live  aa 
governess  to  my  Lady  Corbet's  daughters,  and  had 
etaid  behind  to  nurse  them  in  the  fever  ;  but  she 
did  not  know  whether  you  were  dead  or  alive.  So 
then  my  lady  said,  '  Alwright,  I  am  going  to  Bristol 
to  seek  out  my  cousin  Judith.'  For  you  see,  there 
had  been  no  intercourse  between  them  for  ever  so 
long,  my  old  lady  having  been  bitterly  opposed  to 
Mrs.  Judith  marrying  young  Corbet,  though  he 
has  turned  out  enough  better  than  that  poor  silly 
Mr.  Hervey.  '  I  am  sure  she  will  give  us  a  welcome 
for  the  sake  of  old  times/  soid  my  lady  ;  '  and 
perhaps  I  may  find  Winifred  still  with  her/  And 
so  she  did !  She  had  always  a  warm  heart,  had 
Mrs.  Judith,  and  I  for  one  never  blamed  her  for 
marrying  the  man  to  whom  her  parents  betiothed 
her.  So  she  welcomed  us  as  if  we  had  been 
princesses  of  the  blood,  and  could  not  say  enough 
in  your  praise  for  all  you  did,  which  I  was  not  at 
all  surprised  at,  for  you  were  ever  a  good  girl,  my 
dear,  and  had  the  best  of  teaching,  though  I  say  it 
that  should  not,  perhaps." 

'She    is   an    excellent    lady,"    said    Winifred, 


SURPRISES.  285 

warmly.  "  An  own  father  and  mother  cc  uld  not 
have  been  kinder  than  she  and  Sir  John  have  been 
to  me  since  I  have  been  ill." 

"  And  so  she  ought !"  said  Alwright,  rather  in- 
dignantly. "  I  wonder  what  she  would  have  done 
without  you.  But  she  is  a  good  woman,  that  I  do 
not  deny,  and  seems  to  have  brought  up  her 
daughters  well." 

"  That  she  has,  and  they  are  all  sweet  girls.  I 
long  for  the  time  when  I  shall  be  able  to  teach 
them  again." 

"  Then  you  may  leave  off  longing,  for  you  are 
not  going  to  do  any  such  thing!"  answered  Al- 
wrigbt,  sharply.  "  You  are  to  go  home  with  us  to 
Exeter,  and  be  brought  up  as  my  lady's  own 
da-ughter  henceforth !  She  told  me  so  herself. 
'  If  I  find  Winifred  at  all  what  I  expect '-  those 
were  her  very  words — '  I  shall  take  her  home  and 
troat  her  as  my  own  child.'  And  I  am  sure  she 
will  no*i  be  disappointed  in  you,  for  seeing  that  you 
are  so  thin  and  pale,  you  are  prettier  than  ever, 
and  more  like  poor  Captain  Winthrop,  your  cousin. 
So  doD/t  be  thinking  or  talking  of  teaching  any 
more,  sweetheart,  but  get  well  as  fast  as  you  can, 
and  b*  ready  to  return  home  with  us  And  I 


286  WINIFRED. 

must  learn  to  call  you  Mrs.  Winifred,   now  that 
you  are  to  be  a  great  lady  I" 

"  You  shall  never  call  me  anything  but  your  own 
Winnie,  dear  Alwright !  And  so  my  lady  does  not 
live  at  the  Hall  any  more  ?" 

"  No  ;  in  her  house  at  Exeter,  as  I  told  yon 
And  she  hath  a  good  jointure  and  money  from  hei 
father's  estate  besides.  So  we  have  such  an  estab- 
lishment as  becomes  a  lady  of  her  quality,  though 
we  see  little  company,  my  lady  being  so  lately 
a  widow.  But  now,  my  dear,  you  mu^t  not  speak 
a  word  more,  but  He  and  rest  against  my  lady 
comes  up." 

Winifred  did  not  wish  to  talk  .She  was  quite 
content  to  lie  still  and  enjoy  the  sober  certainty  of 
waking  bliss.  "  To  live  with  my  lady  all  the  rest 
of  her  life — to  read  to  her  and  wait  upon  her — 
was  it  possible  that,  affcjr  all  her  past  trials,  such  a 
future  could  be  in  storp  for  her  ?  How  unthank- 
ful, how  distrustful  she  had  lately  been,  and  all 
this  time  God  had  this  blessing  in  store  for  her  I 
This  very  morniug  she  had  been  feeling  as  if  He 
had  forgotten  her !  Most  earnest  was  her  prayer 
for  forgiveness,  her  thanksgiving  for  the  unex- 
pected and  undeserved  blessing.  She  fell  asleep 
with  the  words  of  prayer  in  her  heart  and  on  her 


287 

lips,  and  awoke  to  find  the  dear  face  bending  over 
her,  the  dear  hand  once  more  clasped  in  hers. 

From  that  time  Winifred  improved  rapidly, 
gaining  flesh  and  strength  from  day  to  day,  until 
ehe  was  able  to  go  first  into  the  school-room  for  a 
change,  and  then  out  into  the  garden.  It  was 
quite  settled  now  that  Winifred  was  to  return 
home  with  Lady  Peckham  as  soon  as  the  doctor 
should  pronounce  her  strong  enough  to  bear  the 
journey,  and  was  to  be  considered  henceforth  as 
her  ladyship's  adopted  child. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  in  the  world  I 
shall  do  without  you,  dear !"  said  good  Lady 
Corbet.  "  You  have  been  everything  to  us  during 
this  disastrous  time  of  sickness  and  poor  Paulina's 
trouble,  and  I  shall  always  say  that  it  was  a  blessed 
day  for  us  all  when  I  met  you  at  Mrs.  Bowler's. 
At  the  same  time,  I  don't  deny  that  my  kinswoman 
hath  the  best  right  to  you,  and  perhaps  needs  you 
more  than  I,  in  respect  she  hath  no  daughters  to 
eep  her  company  in  her  widow's  household.  And 
though  daughters  are  a  care,  doubtless,  and  an 
anxiety,  yet^it  cannot  be  denied  that  they  are  a 
great  comfort.  I  am  sure  Sir  John  would  have 
always  given  you  a  home  as  long  as  you  needed 
it  and  would  have  provided  a  marriage  portiop  tor 


288  WINIFRED. 

you  tlie  same  as  for  his  own  girls,  and  no  doubt 
my  lady  will  do  the  same  when  you  come  to  leave 
1  er,  as  of  course  you  will  do  some  day,  sweet- 
heart, for  such  maids  as  you  do  not  go  begging." 

"  I  shall  never  leave  my  lady,"  said  Winifred, 
hastily,  and  vexed  to  feel  her  cheeks  growing 
scarlet. 

"  Aye,  aye,  that  is  what  they  all  say,"  said  Lady 
Corbet,  smiling,  "'I  shall  never  leave  you, 
mother,'  says  Pall.  Poor  Pall,  I  do  not  know  what 
she,  of  all  others,  will  do  without  you." 

Winifred  echoed  her  good  friend's  sigh.  She 
felt  herself  drawn  two  ways,  and  while  she,  like  the 
rest,  took  it  for  granted  that  she  was  to  go  with 
Lady  Peckham,  she  could  not  help  feeling  many 
regrets  for  those  she  was  leaving  behind 

The  next  day  Lady  Corbet  came  up  again,  full 
of  smiles  and  significant  looks. 

"  Aha,  madam,  did  I  not  say  our  Winifred  was 
not  one  to  go  begging  V"  said  she,  addressing  herself 
to  Lady  Peckham,  who  was  amusing  her  young 
cousins  with  some  stories  of  her  experience  abroad, 
while  Mrs.  Alwright  looked  over  and  rectified  the 
much  abused  tapestry-work.  Then  *  recollecting 
herself,  she  assumed  an  air  of  becoming  importance, 


SURPRISES.  289 

&«  she  beckoned  Lady  Peckham  into  the  next 
room. 

"I  wonder  what  my  mother  means?"  said  the 
literal  Jemima,  as  the  door  closed.  "  Why  should 
Mrs.  Winifred  go  begging  ?" 

"  She  does  not  really  mean  begging,'  said  Phyllis, 
laughing.  "  I  know  what  it  is !  Somebody  has 
been  proposing  for  Winifred,  and  I  guess  who  it. 
is,  too !  It  is  Mr.  Gunnison. " 

"  Mr.  Gunnison  1"  said  Jemima,  slowly.  "  Why, 
he  is  married.  I  saw  his  wife's  name  in  the 
cathedral.  '  Here  lies  Mary,  beloved  wife  of  Jamea 
Gunnison,  aged  twenty-six !' " 

"  But  she  is  dead,  you  goose !  Don't  you  know 
that  when  you  read  her  name  on  the  tomb  your- 
self? How  should  she  be  in  the  cathedral  vault, 
else  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  do  hope  it  is  Mr.  Guunison,  because  then 
Winifred  will  live  in  the  Close  and  we  can  see  her 
every  day. 

"Hush,  hush!"  said  Alwright,  who  had  estab- 
lished herself  in  the  school-room,  where  she  reigned 
supreme  over  needles  and  frames,  to  the  great 
disgust  of  old  Ash  well.  "  Young  ladies  should 
never  talk  of  being  married,  or  guess  what  their 
elders  mean !  Now,  take  your  frames,  be  good 


290  \VIN1FRED. 

/ 
maids,  and  sit  up  straight  at  your  work,  and  I  will 

fcell  you  how  my  lady  and  I  went  to 'visit  the  con- 
vent at  Rome." 

Phyllis  was  right  in  guessing  that  her  mother's 
words  related  to  a  matrimonial  proposition  tor 
Winifred,  though  she  was  mistaken  in  the  person. 
Doctor  Mercer  had  admired  Winifred  from  the  first 
of  their  acquaintance.  They  were  naturally  thrown 
much  together  during  the  continuance  of  the  fever, 
and  afterwards,  in  Winifred's  own  sick-room  ;  and 
the  more  he  knew  her,  the  more  he  saw  to  admire. 
Doctor  Mercer,  blunt  and  odd  as  it  pleased  him  at 
times  to  appear,  was  a  gentleman,  and  a  man  of 
strong  and  warm  feelings.  He  had  known  little  of 
women,  having  always  been  devoted  to  science  and 
to  his  profession,  and  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
looking  upon  them  with  a  kind  of  indulgent  con- 
tempt, as  poor  weak  creatures,  who  must  be  borne 
with  and  taken  care  of  because  they  were  weak^ 
and  because  they  were  necessary  to  the  well-being 
and  continuance  of  the  race.  But  in  Winifred  he 
had  met  with  a  woman  who  had  commanded  first 
his  admiration,  and  then  his  respect  and  love,  by 
her  quiet  courage,  her  docility  and  good  sense,  and 
her  straightforward  truthfulness.  The  end  of  the 
matter  was  that  the  crave,  middle-aged  doctor  had 


SURPRISES.  291 

fallen  in  love  with  the  girl  of  eighteen  ;  and  this 
very  morning  he  had,  after  the  fashion  considered 
lecoroua  at  the  tima,  made  proposals  to  Lady 
Corbet,  as  being  her  present  guardian,  for  the 
hand  of  Winifred  Evans,  and  she  in  her  turn  had 
propoundad  the  matber  to  Lady  Peckham. 

"  You  see,  cousin,  it  may  be  or  might  have  been 
considered  a  fine  match  for  our  Winifred.  Doctor 
Mercer  is  no  common  apothecary,  but  a  physician, 
besides  that  he  is  a  gentleman  of  a  good  old  family, 
and  hath  a  moderate  fortune  of  his  own  besides 
his  profession.  He  is  a  man  of  high  character, 
and  a  good  Christian.  I  am  sure  his  prayers  and 
his  exhortations,  when  my  poor  children  were  ill, 
were  as  good  as  a  clergyman's,  and  so  said  Mr. 
Gunnison  himself.  To  be  sure,  he  is  a  thought 
elderly  for  Winifred,  but  then  she  is  grave  beyond 
her  years." 

"And  what  does  Winifred  think  of  the  matter?" 
asked  Lady  Peckham,  as  soon  as  she  could  get  in 
a  word.  "  Does  she  like  this  Doctor  Mercer  ?" 

"  She  always  speaks  well  of  him,  and  talks  and 
laughs  with  him  when  he  conies  to  see  her,  espec- 
ially since  she  has  been  so  much  better.  More 
than  that  I  cannot  say.  But  no  doubt  she  will  Do 
guided  by  you  in  (he  matter.  I  told  Doctor  Mer- 


292  WINIFRED. 

cer,  '  My  cousin  Margaret  has  taken  the  gentlewo- 
man under  her  own  charge,'  said  I ;  c  and  she  is  the 
person  to  be  consulted,  but  doubtless  Winifred  will 
be  governed  by  her  will,  as  is  becoming.'  " 

"  It  all  depends  upon  Winifred's  own  feelings," 
said  Lady  Peckham,  smiling  and  sighing.  "  I  am 
not  one  of  those  who  believe  in  forcing  the  inclina- 
tions of  young  people,  however  great  may  be  the 
worldly  advantages  promised." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Lady  Corbet.  "  You  know  how  I 
stood  out  against  my  old  lady,  your  honored 
mother,  who,  with  all  due  respect  to  her  and  you, 
did  a  deal  more  of  chat  sort  of  thing  than  ever 
came  to  good.  But  then  Winifred  may  like  him, 
you  know.  It  is  nothing  very  strange  for  a  girl  to 
fancy  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father." 

"  True,  especially  if  he  is  presented  to  her  in  the 
light  of  a  hero,"  observed  Lady  Peckham. 

"  And  you  know  it  would  be  a  good  match,"  con- 
tinued Lady  Corbet.  "  Sir  John  has  put  by  the 
money  for  Winifred's  portion  the  same  as  for  his 
own  girls,  and  you  and  I  could  give  her  an  outfit 
suitable  for  any  lady  in  the  land,"  continued  the 
good  lady,  who  was  evidently  gratified  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  wedding.  "  Doctor  Mercer  has  estab- 
lished himself  permanently  in  Bristol,  and  is 


293 

coming  into  good  practice.  It  would  be  hard  for 
you,  that  is  true,"  she  concluded,  struck  all  at  once 
by  the  idea  that  there  was  another  side  to  the 
matter,  "  to  lose  Winifred,  just  as  you  have  found 
her  again." 

"  I  should  not  let  that  consideration  stand  in  the 
way,  if  Winifred  were  disposed  to  the  match,"  said 
Lady  Peckham.  "  Girls  always  do  marry  some 
time  or  other — at  least,  such  girls  as  Winif red—- 
and it  is  of  no  use  to  calculate  upon  anything  else. 
It  would  be  gross  selfishness  in  me  to  allow  myself 
to  be  influenced  by  any  such  thing  as  that.  I 
suppose,  Cousin  Judith,  the  best  way  will  be  for 
me  to  sound  Winifred  upon  the  matter,  and  see 
what  her  feelings  are.  Or  will  you  undertake  the 
office  yourself?" 

"  Dear  heart,  no  !  I  have  no  sense  at  all  about 
managing  any  such  matter.  I  should  say  ai)d  do 
just  exactly  the  wrong  thing.  I  never  knew  any 
other  way  of  going  to  work  than  just  speaking 
right  out." 

"  I  think  that  is  usually  the  best  way  of  going  to 
work,"  said  Lady  Peckham,  smiling.  "  It  was 
always  your  way,  Judith.  I  remember  my  father 
used  to  call  you  'Down-right  Danstable!'  How- 
ever, I  will  talk  to  Winifred  about  the  matter,  and 
25* 


294  WINIFRED. 

put  the  good  doctor  out  of  suspense  as  quickly  a* 
possible." 

Winifred  received  tLe  doctor's  proposal  at  first 
with  simple  incredulity,  then  with  some  degree  oi 
indignation,  and  at  last  she  burst  into  tears  and 
sobbed  hysterically. 

"  Why,  Winifred,  my  child,  what  is  all  this  for  ?" 
said  Lady  Peckham.  "  I  cannot  for  my  life  see 
anything  in  the  matter  calling  for  such  floods  of 
tears!  Come,  come,  be  a  woman,  and  tell  me 
what  to  say  to  the  good  man !" 

The  old  tone  of  gentle  command  had  not  lost  its 
effect  over  Winifred.  She  checked  herself  by  de- 
grees, and  presently  was  calm  enough  to  say  : 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  very  good — and  does  me  great 
honor — but  oh,  my  lady,  I  cannot  think  of  it !  I 
cannot,  indeed !  I  wish  to  do  my  duty,  but  "- 

There  seemed  imminent  danger  of  another  flood 
of  tears,  as  Winifred  ceased  speaking,  and  busied 
herself  with  the  fringe  of  her  tippet. 

"  It  is  not  necessarily  your  duty  to  marry  a  man 
because  he  asks  you,"  said  Lady  Peckham,  smiling. 
'  But,  Winifred,  I  would  have  you  consider  seri 
ously  before  you  reject  this  offer.     It  is  a  Yer^ 
advantageous  one,  in  every  respect." 


SUKPRISES.  295 

"  I  know  it,  my  lady,  and  far  above  my  deserl-r; 
but" 

"  You  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Doctor  Mercer, 
and  that  is  a  way  to  become  well  acquainted  with 
him, "pursued  her  friend.  "What  is  there  about 
him  that  you  do  not  like  ?" 

"  Nothing,  my  lady!  He  is  one  of  the  best  men 
I  ever  knew !  To  be  sure,  I  have  not  known  many." 

"  He  has  a  good  estate  besides  his  practice,  and 
his  family  is,  to  say  the  least,  equal  to  your  own." 

"  Superior,  my  lady !  I  have  not  forgotten  that 
E  am  but  the  daughter  of  a  merchant  captain,  and 
the  granddaughter  of  a  Somersetshire  yeoman," 
said  Winifred,  not  without  a  touch  of  pride.  "  I 
trust  not  to  forget  my  station." 

"Your  mother  belonged  to  one  of  our  oldest 
Devonshire  families,"  said  Lady  Peckhain.  "  I  do 
not  think  there  is  any  disparity  upon  that  score. 
Sir  John  Corbet  claims  the  pleasure  of  paying  your 
marriage  portion,  and  my  good  cousin  Judith  and 
myself  will  see  that  you  have  everything  becoming 
your  position.  Think  of  it,  Winifred!  Such  an 
opportunity  of  establishing  yourself  will  not  come 
every  day.  Think  well  before  you  decide  !" 

To  judge  from  her  face,  Winifred  did  not  seem 
t,o  be  thinking  favorably.  Her  friend  watcned  her 


296  WINIFRL'D. 

with  something  like  a  smile  lurking  in  her  eyes 
and  tht  corners  of  her  mouth,  as  Winifred  sat  very 
erect,  looking  down  at  the  sprigs  of  rosemary 
which  she  was  pulling  to  pieces  for  Alwright  to 
distil,  and  upon  which  she  was  bestowing  a  good 
deal  more  strength  than  was  necessary. 

"Well,  my  child/'  said  she,  at  last,  "you 
roust  not  keep  the  good  man  in  doubt  longer  than 
you  can  help.  What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?" 

"I  cannot  marry  him,  my  lady!"  Winifred's 
voice  was  husky,  but  firm,  and  her  face  had  regained 
its  calmness.  "  He  is  very  good — too  good  for  rne, 
but  I  cannot  be  his  wife.  It  would  not  be  right ! 
I  am  sure  it  would  not !  Oh,  my  dear  lady,  do  not 
be  angry  with  me,  but  indeed,  indeed  I  cannot 
marry  Doctor  Mercer !" 

"  My  dear  child,  I  have  no  right  or  cause  to  be 
angry,  since  the  doctor's  loss  is  my  gain.  I  have 
no  mind  to  part  with  you,  Winifred,  though  I 
could  of  course  do  so,  if  it  seemed  best  for  you.  You 
are  still  young,  and  your  health  is  not  yet  firmly 
established — though,  as  my  cousin  Judith  would 
say,  that  is  the  more  reason  for  your  marrying  a 
doctor." 

"Please,  my  lady!" 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  over  with  all  the  stock 


SURMISES.  297 

phrases  and  questions,"  continued  Lady  Peckham, 
smiling  rather  sadly.  "  I  ought  to  preach  to  you 
the  duty  of  submission  to  your  elders,  to  lecture 
you  upon  your  presumption,  and  to  question  you 
as  to  whether  you  have  any  other  attachment  \shich 
prevents  you  from  accepting  so  good  an  offer. 
Why,  my  child,  if  you  color  so,  I  shah1  think  there  is 
some  occasion  for  the  question !" 

Winifred's  face  was  indeed  scarlet  with  the  pro- 
voking color  which  would  rush  into  her  cheeks  at 
the  wrong  time. 

"What  dream  are  you  cherishing,  little  one?" 
asked  her  friend,  tenderly  drawing  the  blushing 
face  and  tearful  eyes  to  hide  themselves  on  her 
shoulder.  "You  have,  perhaps,  seen  some  one 
who  more  nearly  approaches  your  notions  of  a 
hero  than  even  your  kind  and  courageous  doctor  J 
You  have  no  engagement,  have  you,  Winifred  ?" 

"No,  my  lady." 

"  Well,  my  child,  I  do  not  want  to  pry  into  your 
secrets,  if  you  have  them." 

"Indeed,  my  lady,  I  have  none,"  said  Winifred, 
lifting  her  head,  but  letting  it  fall  once  more  as  she 
met  Lady  Peckham's  motherly  and  penetrating 
gaze.  "  Oh,  madam,  do  not  be  angry  with  me !" 

"Why  should    I   be    angry,   Winifred?'     asked 


298  WINIFRED. 

Lady  Peckham,  gravely.  "Do  you  know  of  aught 
that  should  displease  me  ?" 

"No,  madam,"  said  Winifred,  recovering  her 
calmness,  and  meeting  her  friend's  gaze.  "  I  have 
nothing  in  my  mind  of  which  o  be  ashamed  before 
you  or  before  God.  It  is  true  that  I  have  had  an 
attachment  to  one  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  some 
years,  and  shall  probably  never  meet  again  ;  but 
that  is  all.  I  shall  never  be  married,  nor  have  I 
any  wish  to  be  so.  I  have  no  other  desire  than  to 
live*  with  you  and  wait  upon  you,  or,  if  that  may  not 
be,  to  go  on  earning  my  bread  as  I  have  done. 
Marry  Doctor  Mercer,  I  cannot!  I  am  deeply 
sorry  to  seem  so  ungrateful  for  all  his  kindness, 
but  the  thing  is  impossible.  I  would  rather  work 
in  Lady  Corbet's  kitchen,  or  even  scrub  my  aunt's 
floors  and  trenchers  all  my  life  long!" 

""Well,  sweetheart,  that  is  not  the  alternative," 
said  Lady  Peckham,  kissing  her.  "I  shall  ac- 
quaint my  cousin  with  your  decision  and  leave  her 
to  inform  the  doctor.  But,  Winifred,  my  dear  child, 
beware  of  making  an  idol,  even  of  your  cross! 
Believe  me,  it  is  easy  to  do  so.  Do  not  let  your 
thoughts  dwell  or  your  fancies  wander  in  a  world 
of  your  own  making,  lest  in  doing  your  own  works 
you  cease  from  God's,  and  thus  lose  your  portion 


SURPRISES.  299 

in  the  rest  which  remaineth  for  His  people.  Now 
lie  down  and  Depose  yourself,  and  try  to  gair, 
strength,  for  I  wish  to  return  home  as  soon  as 
possible.  I  hope  to  find  letters  from  my  brother 
awaiting  me." 

Lady  Peckharn  was  helping  to  loosen  Winifred's 
dress  as  she  spoke,  and  she  felt  the  start  and  quiver, 
at  the  same  time  that  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  an 
enamelled  chain  and  locket  which  she  well  knew. 

"And  is  it  even  so!"  she  thought,  as  she  de- 
scended the  stairs.  "Has  the  poor  little  thing 
been  cherishing  the  memory  and  image  of  my  wild 
Arthur  all  these  weary  years?  I  remember  now 
how  shy  she  has  seemed  of  asking  or  speaking 
about  him !  Well,  well !  Such  constancy  deserves 
its  reward,  but  I  fear  for  her,  especially  if  Arthur 
should  return.  However,  there  is  no  help  for  it 
now.  She  would  make  a  lovely  little  baroness,  that 
is  certain,  and  her  birth  and  breeding  are  better 
than  those  of  the  London  heiress  my  poor  mother 
destined  for  her  elder  son.  But  what  an  old  fool 
I  am !  Arthur  has  doubtless  fallen  in  love  with  a 
dozen  ladies  of  quality  since  he  hath  seen  Wini- 
fred!" 

Lady  Corbet  could  not  help  showing  her  disap- 
pointment at  the  rejection  of  Doctor  Mercer,  and 


300  WTNIFHED. 

would  have  plied  Winifred  with  various  arguments 
in  his  favor,  had  not  her  cousin  persuaded  her  that 
to  agitate  Winifred  in  her  present  weak  state  would 
be  to  endanger  a  relapse  which  would  infallibly 
kill  the  patient. 

".Well,  I  dare  say  you  are  right,  Cousin  Mar- 
garet! You  always  are,  and  if  Winifred  cannot 
like  him,  she  cannot  ;  and  that  is  all  about  it. 
But  to  see  the  luck  some  girls  have!  I  could 
almost  have  wished  the  offer  had  fallen  to  my  Pall, 
who,  poor  child,  can  hardly  hope  for  any  great 
match  after  all  that  has  happened.  Not  that  I 
should  care  so  much  for  that,  if  I  could  only  see 
her  hold  up  her  head  once  more." 

"  I  have  observed  that  my  young  cousin  seemed 
to  have  a  cloud  hanging  over  her,"  said  Lady 
Peckham,  not  unwilling  to  divert  Lady  Corbet's 
attention  from  Winifred.  "  She  appears  like  one 
who  has  some  heavy  trouble  upon  her  mind." 

The  good  mother  was  easily  won  to  tell  the  story, 
and  her  cousin  listened  with  rea?  sympathy  and 
kindness. 

"And,  now  you  see  all  this  puts  my  pool 
girl  in  a  sad  position !"  concluded  Lady  Corbet. 
*'  Her  father  is  displeased,,  and  with  good  reason, 
and  people  about  town  make  the  tale  a  deal  worse 


SURPRISES.  301 

thzm  it  really  is.  It  is  bad  enough,  no  doubt,  and 
would  have  been  worse,  but  for  Winifred  and  the 
good  doctor  ;  but  yet  it  seems  hard  that  the  poor 
maid's  life  should  be  thus  overclouded.  My  old 
Lidy  Germaine,  who  has  always  been  my  great 
friend  and  adviser,  cannot  help  rne  here,  in  respect 
she  is  herself  a  papist — more's  the  pity  !  and  what 
to  do  I  cannot  tell." 

"  You  do  not  think  Paulina  has  any  present 
inclination  to  the  Church  of  Rome  ?"  asked  her 
cousin. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  no !  I  am  rather  afraid  of 
her  going  to  the  other  extreme.  I  found  her  only 
yesterday  reading  the  strangest  book!  ]t  is  called 
the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  Mr.  Gunnison  says 
it  was  written  by  a  Baptist  tinker.  I  must  say  it 
read  like  a  fairy  tale,  and  though  I  am  no  great 
reader,  I  could  hardly  lay  it  down.  But  surely 
such  a  book  cannot  be  fit  for  a  young  lady !" 

"  I  believe  there  is  no  harm  in  the  book,  cousin, " 
Eaid  Lady  Peckham.  "  Winifred  read  it  aloud  to 
tc  me  some  three  years  ago.  It  appeared  to  me  to 
be  a  remarkable  book  to  come  from  such  a  source, 
and  to  contain  a  great  deal  of  truth." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  you  are  right !  I  would  as 
aoou  have  your  notion  of  a  book  as  the  bishop's, 
26 


302  WINIFRED. 

But  I  wish  you  would  give  me  your  best  advice, 
for  I  am  at  my  wits'  end  and  that  is  the  truth  I*' 

"  Suppose  you  let  my  young  cousin  go  home 
with  me  for  a  while,"  -said  Lady  Peckham,  after  a 
little  consideration.  "  My  household  wih1  be  but  a 
dull  one  for  a  young  lady,  but  Paulina  will  have 
Winifred  for  a  companion,  and  as  you  say  she  has 
not  yet  finished  her  studies,  she  can  perfect  herself 
in,  work  and  housewifery  under  my  good  Alwright, 
and  I  will  myself  instruct  both  her  and  Winifred 
in  what  accomplishments  I  possess." 

Lady  Corbet  joyfully  accepted  the  offer,  and 
proceeded  to  acquaint  her  daughter  with  it. 
Paulina  was  equally  pleased.  She  liked  the  pros- 
pect of  having  a  change  and  seeing  something  new, 
and  she  was  overjoyed  at  leaving  Bristol,  where, 
she  fancied,  every  one  stared  and  pointed  at  her. 
Winifred  was  delighted  not  to  be  separated  from 
Paulina,  to  whom  she  was  greatly  attached,  and, 
in  fine,  every  one  was  pleased  except  poor  Doctor 
Mercer  and  the  twins.  The  latter  were  indeed 
inconsolable  at  the  thought  of  losing  Winifred  and 
Paulina  both  at  once,  and  were  hardly  to  be  com- 
forted by  the  promise  that  they  should  also  go  fcc 
visit  Cousin  Margaret  in  her  new  home. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


THE     PRINCE. 

GOOD  evening  to  you,  madam!  So  you  have 
absolutely  condescended,  for  as  great  lady  as 
you  are,  to  come  and  visit  the  house  of  your  father's 
own  brother !  That  is  more  than  I  expected. 
Girl,  this  is 'my  lady's  adopted  daughter,  a  l.idy  of 
quality.  AVhy  do  you  not  make  your  reverences 
at  once,  and  acknowledge  the  honor  she  does  us!" 
Such  was  the  affectionate  greeting  which  Dame 
Evans  bestowed  on  her  husband's  niece,  who  had 
hastened  to  come  and  see  her  as  soon  as  she  heard 
through  a  neighbor  of  their  return  to  Bristol.  In 
truth,  the  poor  woman's  narrow  soul  was  boiling 
over  with  envy  and  spite  at  her  niece's  change  of 
fortune.  She  was  one  of  those  unlucky  people 
who  regard  every  piece  of  preferment  falling  to 
any  one  else  as  just  so  much  taken  from  themselves. 


304  WINIFRED. 

Simon  Evans  had  given  his  full  and  free  consent 
when  Lady  Peckham  had  informed  him,  on  occasion 
of  her  visit  to  Holford,  of  her  intentions  with  re- 
gard to  Winifred  ;  adding  that  Winifred  was  half 
a  lady  by  birth,  and  wholly  so  in  her  bringing  up  ; 
and  much  better  suited  to  be  a  companion  to  Lady 
Peckham  than  a  household  help  to  such  as  they 
were. 

"  I  trust  Winifred  has  not  failed  in  her  duty  to 
you  or  to  her  aunt,"  said  Lady  Peckham. 

"  By  no  means,  my  lady !  She  has  been  every- 
thing that  she  should  be,  and  more !" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that,"  grumbled 
Dame  Evans,  by  no  means  pleased  with  this  un- 
qualified praise  of  Winifred.  "I  am  sure,  the 
pains  I  had  to  wean  her  from  her  books  and  her 
dreaming,  and  make  her  do  anything  useful !  And 
now  to  have  her  snatched  away,  and  by  a  stranger, 
as  it  were  !  I  must  say,  'tis  very  hard!" 

Master  Evans  gave  his  wife  a  glance  that  she 
well  understood  as  a  signal  to  hold  her  tongue. 
"If  the  girl  is  alive,  as  I  trust  she  may  be,  your 
ladyship  is  heartily  welcome  to  her,  and  I  hope 
she  may  repay  your  kindness  towards  her,"  contin- 
ued her  uncle.  "  'Tis  not  every  great  lady  to  whom 
I  would  trust  her  in  those  times,  but  you,  my  lady, 


THE  PRINCE.  305 

and  Sir  Edward,   are   well   known   as   being  no 
favorers  of  court  follies  and  sins." 

So  the  matter  was  settled,  to  the  great  chagrin 
of  M  argery  Evans,  who  would  have  liked  at  least 
to  throw  some  difficulties  in  the  way.  But  even 
this  was  not  the  worst.  Simon  Evans  had  been 
much  surprised  at  the  circumstance  that  his  father 
had  died  without  making  a  will.  It  was  very  un- 
like his  ordinary  business-like  habits,  which  caused 
him  to  make  a  matter  of  conscience  of  doing  every- 
thing in  the  right  time  and  way.  Magdalen  Evans 
had  always  been  a  great  favorite  with  her  father, 
and  with  good  reason  ;  for  ever  since  her  marriage 
she  had  kept  his  house,  looked  after  his  interests, 
and  waited  upon  him  with  more  than  the  devotion 
of  a  daughter  ;  and  never  by  word  or  sign  had  she 
shown  any  consciousness  of  superiority  to  the 
family  of  the  yeoman.  Under  these  circumstances 
it  seemed  incredible  to  Simon  Evans  that  his 
father  should  have  left  Magdalen  and  her  child 
unprovided  for  ;  especially  as  his  brother  Gilbert 
was  in  the  habit  of  putting  his  wages  into  his 
father's  hands  to  be  invested  for  the  benefit  of  his 
family.  No  will,  however,  had  been  found,  and 
Simon,  an  honest  and  upright  though  rather 
thick-headed  man,  had  ever  since  been  casting 
26* 


d06  WINIFRED. 

aboat  in  his  mind  for  the  best  way  tc  set  right  the 
injustice  his  father  had  committed. 

No  sooner  had  the  Evans  family  arrived  at  the 
farm,  than  Dame  Margery  began  the  necessary 
process  of  cleaning  the  long  shut  up  house ;  and 
great  was  the  rummaging  and  wonderful  the 
objurgations  bestowed  upon  the  dirty  sluts  of  maids, 
and  the  carelessness  and  neglect  of  poor  sister 
Magdalen,  who,  it  was  plain  to  be  seen,  had  never 
given  the  place  a  thorough  cleaning  sinee  she  went 
into  it.  It  was  well  for  Winifred's  peace  of  mind 
that  she  was  n:>t  present  to  hear  the  remarks  made 
upon  her  mother's  management. 

One  day  she  attacked  old  Master  Evans'  room, 
and  turned  all  the  furniture  out  of  doors,  that  she 
might,  as  she  said,  have  the  place  to  herself.  Out 
went  the  ancient  chair  and  table,  the  heavy  bed- 
stead was  denuded  of  its  hangings  and  dragged  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  Dame  Margery 
called  upon  her  husband  to  come  and  help  jaove 
out  the  heavy  old  secretary  and  chest  of  drawers, 
in  which  Master  Evans  had  always  kept  his  paper8 
and  other  more  valuable  possessions.  Simon  had 
looked  through  this  secretary  more  than  once  with- 
out finding  what  he  sought.  Now,  however,  as  he 
drew  the  end  away  from  the  wall,  he  perceived  a 


THE   riilNCE.  307 

paper  stLk:ng*  oat  through  a  crevice  at  the  back. 
With  somo  Hfficulty  he  pulled  it  out,  and  unfolded 
it,  and  a  moment's  glance  showed  him  it  was  the 
will  ho  had  sought. 

"Well,  what  new?"  said  his  wife,  sharply. 
"  What  is  in  that  £apor,  chat  you  stare  at  it  like  an 
owl  at  a  mouse  ?" 

"  I  believe,  Margery/'  eaid  Simon,  slowly,  "  that 
I  have  found  my  father**  will." 

"And  what  if  you  have?  What  difference  wiU 
that  make  ?" 

"  It  may  make  a  great  deal  of  difference !"  said 
Simon.  "  I  must  find  some  one  who  can  make  me 
understand  this  paper.  I  am  sorry  that  my  good 
lady  is  gone  from  the  Hall.  I  believe  I  will  go  to 
the  vicar." 

"Better  keep  it  to  yourself,  good  man,"  sug- 
gested Margery,  somewhat  alarmed.  "  What  does 
it  signify?  You  are  the  eldest  son,  and  have  the 
best  right  to  your  father's  property,  and  Winifred 
is  provided  for.  Better  let  well  alone  " 

"  Woman !"  said  Simon  Evans,  sternly,  "  wouldst 
thou  have  me  build  up  my  house  by  wrong  and 
robbery,  and  thus  bring  upon  these  young  onea 
the  curse  of  ill-gotten  gain  ?  I  have  ever  thought 
it  strange  that  my  father  loft  nothing  to  my  brother 


308  WINIFRED. 

Gilbert's  family.      I  doubt  not  this  will  set  the 
matter  right." 

So  it  proved.  The  new  vicar  examined  the  will, 
and  read  it  to  Simon  Evans.  By  this  instrument 
he  discovered  that  his  father  had  put  no  less  than 
six  hundred  pounds  into  the  hands  of  Sir  Edward 
Peckham,  to  be  invested  for  the  benefit  of  Mag- 
dalen Evans  and  her  children.  A  great  part  of 
this  sum,  it  was  stated,  consisted  of  the  earnings 
of  Gilbert  Evans,  and  the  result  of  some  fortunate 
speculations  in  the  china  jars  and  Indian  brocades 
and  cottons  which  were  just  becoming  fashionable. 
In  addition,  Winifred  was  to  have  for  life  the  rents 
of  certain  tenements  in  the  village  of  Holford. 
Vouchers  and  all  other  papers  relating  to  the  trans- 
action would  be  found  in  the  secret  drawer  where 
the  will  was  deposited.  The  clue  being  given,  it 
was  not  difficult  to  discover  the  drawer,  in  which 
were  all  the  documents,  arranged  in  perfect  order. 
Sir  Edward's  former  lawyer  had  died  of  the  fever, 
but  his  sou  and  successor  at  Bridgewater  easily 
discovered  among  Sir  Edward's  papers  additional 
evidence  of  the  transaction  ;  and  as  the  baronet 
was  perfectly  methodical  in  all  business  affairs,  and 
left  abundance  of  ready  money  for  the  discharge  of 


THE  PRINCE.  309 

afl  debts,  there  seemed  no  doubt  that  Winifred's 
portion  would  be  immediately  forthcoming. 

It  would  be  more  easy  to  imagine  than  to  de- 
scribe the  wrath  of  Dame  Margery  Evans  at  this 
discovery.  In  vain  did  her  husband  represent  to 
her  that  the  money  in  question  had  belonged  to 
Winifred's  father,  and  not  to  his  own,  and  was 
therefore  no  concern  of  his.  In  vain  did  he  tell 
her  that,  as  they  had  never  known  of  the  existence 
of  this  six  hundred  pounds,  they  were  no  poorer 
without  them.  Dame  Margery  persisted  in  con- 
sidering it  as  just  so  much  bread  taken  out  of  the 
mouths  of  her  own  children.  She  lamented  and 
scolded  day  and  night,  till  her  husband,  worii 
out,  assumed  his  rare  tone  of  authority,  and  bade 
her  never  mention  the  subject  in  his  hearing  again, 
under  pain  of  certain  penalties  not  unusual  in 
those  days.  It  may  be  believed  that  Margery's 
gall  was  none  the  less  bitter  for  this  enforced  sup- 
pression. She  had  come  back  to  Bristol,  deter- 
mined, as  she  said,  to  see  Winifred,  and  give  her 
a  piece  of  her  mind  ;  and  the  opportunity  had 
come  sooner  than  she  expected.  Winifred's  affec- 
tionate anxiety  to  meet  and  greet  her  relatives  had, 
BO  to  speak,  led  her  directly  into  the  lion's  jaws. 
She  had  as  yet  heard  nothing  of  her  good  fortune, 


310  WINIFRED. 

Lady  I'eckham  having  thought  it  better  that  the 
matter  should  be  settled  entirely  before  it  was 
spoken  of ;  and  she  stood  perfectly  aghast  at  the 
reception  she  met  with.  Dame  Margery  perceived 
her  confusion,  and  followed  up  her  advantage  with 
a  torrent  of  abuse  of  Winifred  herself,  and  all  her 
friends,  including  her  mother,  Lady  Peckham,  and 
the  whole  Corbet  family.  There  was  no  telling 
how  far  she  might  have  gone,  if  Betsey,  becoming 
alarmed  at  her  mother's  violence,  had  not  run 
down  to  the  water-side  and  called  her  father.  The 
presence  of  Master  Evans  at  once  restored  quiet. 
Margery's  storm  of  words  subsided  into  a  low 
mutter,  and  presently  dissolved  into  a  shower  of 
tears,  in  which  she  bewailed  her  unhappy  fate  in 
meeting  with  such  black  ingratitude  from  those 
she  had  nourished  as  her  own,  alluded  to  frozen 
vipers  which  stung  those  who  warmed  them,  and 
finally,  having  fairly  worn  out  her  fit  of  temper, 
was  ready  to  meet  Winifred  with  a  sort  of  mourn- 
ful solemnity,  when  she  came  down-stairs  frora 
packing  up  such  of  her  possessions  as  remained  at 
her  aunt's,  and  dividing  between  the  little  girls  the 
presents  she  had  brought  them  :  to  hope  that  her 
sins  would  not  be  visited  on  her  head,  and  that  she 
would  not  come  to  shame  and  destruction  among 


THE   PRINCE.  311 

the  fine  folks  who  had  taken  her  up,  now  that  it 
was  known  she  had  a  little  money  of  her  own. 

"You forget,  dame,"  said  her  husband,  "that  my 
lady  has  known  Winifred  longer  than  we  have,  and 
that  Sir  John's  family  took  her  up  because  she 
was  useful  to  them  in  teaching  the  young  laches." 

But  Dame  Evans  did  not  choose  to  remember. 
Winifred  had  chosen  her  lot,  and  she  must  abide 
by  it,  she  said.  She  washed  her  hands  of  the  whole 
matter.  Thank  goodness,  she  had  no  reason  to  be 
running  after  gentlefolks.  She  had  kept  her  own 
house  over  her  head  and  the  heads  of  her  family 
— much  thanks  she  got  for  it — and  she  hoped  to 
do  so,  though  the  bread  had  been  taken  out  of  the 
mouths  of  her  children  to  enrich  strangers.  And 
here,  the  temper  coming  uppermost  once  more, 
Bhe  fell  into  a  regular  screaming  and  kicking  fit  of 
hysterics. 

"Go,  Winifred,  you  can  do  no  good  here,"  said 
her  uncle.  "May  God  bless  you,  child!  I  trust 
nd  will  believe  you  are  provided  for,  but  if  ever 
you  are  in  need,  remember  my  house  is  always 
open  to  you.  Give  my  grateful  duty  to  my  lady, 
and  as  you  go  by  the .  goldsmith's  send  in  Dame 
Joyce  to  see  to  your  aunt.  She  is  a  good-natured 
woman,  and  knows  how  to  manage  her." 


312  WINIFRED. 

Winifred  never  saw  her  aunt  again.  The  dame 
died  not  very  long  after  from  a  cold  taken  in  scrub- 
bing the  bricks  of  the  little  court  one  cold  day, 
while  she  was  wet  through  and  through  from 
washing  of  windows.  After  waiting  a  decent  time, 
Simon  Evans  took  to  wife  a  younger  sister  of  Danj6 
Joyce,  who  had  been  well  educated  in  one  of  tho 
excellent  foundation  schools  of  Bristol.  With  all 
the  kindness  of  heart  and  cneerfulness  of  spirit  of 
her  elder  sister,  she  possessed  more  sense  and 
steadiness  of  purpose.  She  proved  a  real  blessing 
to  the  household  of  Simon  Evans,  and  was  more 
truly  a  mother  to  his  daughters  than  ever  their 
own  had  been.  Simon  Evans  grew  rich  and  pros- 
pered, and,  feeling  a  certain  longing  after  his  old 
home,  he  sold  out  his  business,  and  retired  with 
his  family  to  the  Stonehill  farm,  where  he  and  his 
wife  lived  and  died  in  peace,  respected  by  all  who 
knew  them. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  Lady  Peckham  returned 
to  her  house  at  Exefcer,  taking  Paulina  and  Wini- 
fred, and  the  two  girls  were  soon  settled  into  a 
regular  course  of  study  and  work,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Lady  Peckham  and  the  vigorous  supervision 
of  Mrs.  Al wright.  Relieved  from  the  annoyance 
of  curious  and  reproachful  eyes,  and  influenced  bj 


THE  PRINCE.  313 

flife  calm  and  cheerful  spirit  of  her  cousin,  Paulina 
rapidly  regained  health  and  spirits.  She  took  a 
new  interest  in  the  accomplishments  she  had  here- 
tofore despised,  when  shown  that  they,  like  all 
othei  advantages,  were  talents  committed  to  her 
charge  to  be  used  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the 
good  of  those  about  her.  She  threw  herself  into 
st'idy  and  work  with  an  energy  which  nobody  had 
oelieved  was  in  her,  and  daily  surprised  her  kind 
teacher  by  her  progress,  and  astonished  Alwright 
by  her  skill  in  inventing  new  patterns  and  improv- 
ing old  ones,  and  by  baking  a  saffron  cake  and  an 
almond  pastry  as  well  as  her  teacher  or  Winifred. 
To  Winifred  all  seemed  more  like  a  happy  dream 
than  like  any  possible  reality  ;  and  she  almost 
feared  to  wake  and  find  herself  again  scouring 
trenchers  or  washing  casements  under  the  super- 
vision of  Dame  Margery.  Not  that  even  now  she 
was  perfectly  happy.  She  could  not  but  regret  the 
terms  on  which  she  had  parted  with  her  aunt, 
though  her  own  reason  told  her  she  was  not  iri 
fault  ;  and  she  was  conscious  of  a  sharp  pang  of 
pain  and  regret  whenever  anything  was  said  about 
Arthur  Carew.  Lady  Peckham  seldom  mentioned 
her  brother,  though  Winifred  believed  that  sho 
often  heard  from  him.  She  only  knew  that  he 
27 


314  WINIFRED. 

was  in  Holland,  and,  openly  or  covertly,  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  and  that  if  the  now 
much  talked  of  expedition  of  the  prince  should  take 
place,  Arthur  Carew  would  doubtless  accompany 
him.  But  suppose  she  should  ever  see  him  again, 
what  good  would  that  do  her?  Was  it  at  all 
likely  that  after  so  long  a  time  he  would  remember 
the  little  country  girl  to  whom  he  had  given  the 
locket  and  said  those  words  under  the  great  pear- 
tree?  Had  those  words  ever  been  anything 
more  than  the  empty  compliments  of  a  courtier  ? 
Or,  if  he  had  been  sincere  at  the  time,  would  not 
Lord  Carew  be  a  ver}*  different  person  from  the 
wounded  and  half-starved  adventurer  whom  she 
had  guided  to  Dame  Sprat's  cottage  on  that 
memorable  midnight  ?  And  what  would  my  lady 
say  to  such  a  maUih  ? 

But  with  all  these  questionings  and  a  hundred 
more,  Winifred's  faith  did  not  fail.  She  knc.w  that 
her  fate  was  in  tetter  hands  than  those  of  any 
earthly  friend,  however  kind  and  wise,  and  that  all 
would  be  ordered  fci  the  best.  So  she  took  up 
her  cross  bravely,  anc1  bore  it  silently,  as  many  a 
woman  has  done  both  before  and  since ;  never 
allowing  her  thoughts  tv>  clwe?l  upon  her  tiouble 
more  than  she  could  help,  and  thankful  that  fll'8 


T1IE   PRINCE. 

bad  at  least  one  Friend  to  whom  she  could  pour 
out  her  heart,  and  whom  she  could  ask  for  blessings 
upon  all  those  dearest  to  her.  Meantime  she  gave 
her  whole  mind  and  attention  to  the  studies  she 
was  pursuing  with  Paulina,  under  Lady  Peckham 's 
direction,  went  to  prayers  at  the  grand  old  cathe- 
dral on  Sundays  and  holidays,  worked  for  the 
poor,  and  was  introduced  to  Lady  Peckhain's 
visitors  as  "  Mrs.  Evans,  a  young  kinswoman  whom 
1  have  taken  to  bring  up."  Thus  the  little  house- 
hold in  the  fine  old  house  at  Exeter  pursued  its 
quiet  way  amid  all  the  disturbances  of  the  time, 
seeing  little  company  and  hearing  little  news ; 
though  Winifred  shrewdly  suspected  that  her  lady 
knew  more  of  what  went  on  in  the  great  world  out- 
side than  she  always  saw  fit  to  communicate. 

One  afternoon  in  November,  Lady  Peckham  sat 
in  the  bow-windowed  parlor,  looking  into  the  gar- 
den with  her  two  young  friends,  busied  with  her 
knitting,  while  Paulina  and  Winifred  read  aloud 
in  turn.  Either  the  chronicler  was  not  very  enter- 
taining or  the  readers  were  preoccupied,  for  Lady 
Peckham  often  let  her  knitting  fall  as  she  looked 
absently  into  the  garden,  Paulina  seemed  in  im- 
minent danger  of  going  to  sleep  over  her  frame,  and 
Winifred  more  than  once  lost  her  place,  when  they 


316  WINIFRED. 

were  suddenly  startled  and  effectually  aroused  by 
the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Alwright,  in  a  state  of  per- 
turbation and  alarm  most  unusual  in  that  staid 
and  discreet  spinster. 

"  O  madam !  O  my  lady !  John  Footman  has 
just  come  home,  and  he  says  there  is  certain  news 
come  that  the  Prince  of  Orange  has  landed  at 
Torbay  with  all  his  army,  and  is  marching  direct 
upon  Exeter  by  this  very  road.  What  shall  we  do  ? 
What  will  become  of  us  ?" 

The  whole  party  started,  and  Winifred  turned 
pale  as  death.  She  well  remembered  the  undisci- 
plined rabble  of  Monmouth's  army  and  the  horrors 
which  followed  its  defeat.  Lady  Peckham  seemed 
the  least  disturbed  of  the  three. 

"I  do  not  think  there  is  any  cause  for  present 
alarm,"  said  she.  "  Yes,  my  poor  Winifred,  I  see 
well  of  what  you  are  thinking,  but  I  believe  this 
will  be  a  very  different  matter  from  that  wretched 
affair  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth.  The  Prince  of 
Orange  is  a  worthy  Christian  gentleman,  and  his 
wife  the  next  heir  to  the  throne.  I  have  reason  to 
know  that  he  has  been  invited  over  at  this  time  by 
some  of  the  foremost  men  in  the  kingdom.  His 
troops  are  famous  for  their  discipline  and  good 


THE  HIINCE.  317 

order,  and  he  has  with  him  many  English  gentle- 
men." 

"  Then  your  ladyship  does  not  think  we  had 
better  begin  to  pack  up  our  goods  ?"  said  Alwright. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  you  had  better  pre- 
pare for  the  reception  of  guests — especially  of  some 
one  who  loves  sweet  sausages  and  saffron  cakes — 
for  I  am  mistaken  if  we  do  not  have  a  visitor  be- 
fore long!" 

The  next  few  days  were  days  of  great  excitement 
to  all  the  people  of  Exeter,  and  our  friends  had 
their  full  share  of  interest  in  what  was  going  on. 
Some  of  the  cathedral  authorities,  as  soon  as  they 
heard  of  the  landing  of  the  troops  at  Torbay,  left 
their  posts  and  went  up  to  Loudon.  The  magis- 
trates who  favored  King  James  remained  in  their 
places  ;  but  they  could  do  nothing  against  the 
universal  feeling  of  the  inhabitants,  and,  wisely 
enough  probably,  did  not  try.  All  sorts  of  rumors 
were  afloat  about  the  men  the  prince  had  brought 
with  him.  It  was  said  that  they  were  a  race  of 
giants  ;  that  they  carried  such  arms  and  accoutre- 
ments as  had  never  been  seen  before  ;  that  some  of 
them  were  savages  from  the  far  north  where  the 
nun  never  shone  and  the  ocean  was  frozen  solid. 
The  people  of  Exeter,  whose  notions  of  armies 
27* 


318  WINIFRED. 

were  taken  from  the  lawless  rabl  le  of  Monmouth 
or  the  more  highly  organized  rapacity  and 
ruffianism  of  Kirke's  band,  began  to  anticipate 
with  terror  the  entrance  of  the  troops  into  the  city. 
But  all  the  rumors  which  came  from  the  now 
rapidly  advancing  army  concurred  in  saying  that 
the  soldiers  were  under  the  strictest  discipline, 
took  nothing  without  paying  for  it,  and  were  civil 
to  all  who  came  in  their  way. 

"  Only  think,  madam,"  said  a  young  servant  one 
morning,  "  they  say  the  prince  has  two  or  three 
hundred  blackamoors  with  him — real  blackamoors 
from  the  Indies  I'' 

"  Well,"  said  Lady  Peckham,  not  at  all  discom- 
posed by  the  news,  "  I  dare  say  they  are  harmless 
enough." 

"  I  cannot  help  liking  blackamoors  1"  said  Paul- 
ina. "  Poor  Jack,  my  father's  black,  was  so  good 
when  we  were  all  ill  I" 

"  They  are  good  and  bad,  like  other  people,  I 
suppose !"  said  Lady  Peckham.  "  I  do  not  think 
you  have  any  cause  for  fear,  Dolly.  Only  attend 
to  your  work,  and  all  will  go  well  enough." 

"  Poor  Dolly !"  said  Winifred,  laughing,  as  the 
girl  retreated.  "  She  seems  rather  disappointed 
f  iat  her  story  has  made  no  more  stir/ 


THE   PRINCE.  319 

"  Yes,  people  of  her  sort  have  a  great  fondness 
for  horrors.  But  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  cause 
for  alarm.  The  prince  himself,  I  am  well  advised, 
will  be  here  to-morrow  or  the  next  day,  and  no 
disorder  is  likely  to  go  on  in  his  neighborhood  1" 

The  next  day  but  one  all  Exeter  was  in  the  street 
or  at  the  windows.  The  houses  were  hung  with 
tapestry  or  ornamented  with  flowers  to  welcome 
the  man  who  had  come  to  save  England  from 
popish  domination.  Lady  Peckham's  house,  m 
the  principal  street,  by  which  the  prince  must  pass 
to  the  lodgings  assigned  him,  had  its  windows 
crowded  with  gazers,  but  one  little  balcony  was 
reserved  for  Lady  Peckham  herself  and  her  family  ; 
and  not  a  few  eyes  turned  from  the  crowds  in  the 
street  to  rest  upon  the  stately  figure  of  the  wid- 
owed lady,  supported  by  her  two  young  cousins, 
both  so  lovely  and  in  such  different  styles. 

Peace  of  mind  and  improving  health  had  brought 
the  carnation  to  Paulina's  cheek  and  the  light  to 
her  dark  eyes.  Winifred  was  outwardly  calm  and 
pale  as  usual,  but  her  mind  was  in  a  nutter  of  ex- 
pectation of  she  knew  not  what.  She  told  herself 
again  and  again  that  she  had  nothing  to  look  for  ; 
that  Lord  Carew  was  and  could  be  nothing  to 
her  ;  tLat  sbe  cwed  it  to  herself  and  to  her  lady 


320 

to  think  no  more  about  him  ;  but  not  the  less  JLd 
her  heart  bound  every  time  the  thought  crossed 
her  mind  that  she  might  perhaps  see  hiin  agaiii 
before  she  slept. 

"  Here  they  come  at  last!"  said  Lady  Peckham. 
"  I  hear  the  music ;  and  see,  the  crowd  parts ! 
Who  comes  first?" 

First  came  a  troop  of  gentlemen,  many  of  them 
English,  splendidly  mounted,  and  attended  by 
their  negro  servants  in  turbans  and  white  feathers, 
rolling  their  eyes  and  showing  their  white  teeth  as 
though  they  considered  the  whole  pageant  had 
been  got  up  for  their  exclusive  honor. 

Winifred  gazed  intently,  but  saw  no  face  that 
she  knew. 

"What  a  pity  Jack  is  not  here!"  said  Paulina, 
"He  might  find  some  friends  among  all  these 
black  people.  But  who  are  these  with  the  fur 
cloaks  and  black  armor  ?" 

"  They  must  be  the  Swedes  of  whom  we  heard," 
said  Lady  Peckham.  "They  are  indeed  a  for- 
midable troop !  Here  comes  the  prince's  banuer 
Can  you  read  the  .levice,  Winifred  ?" 

"  '  The  Protestant  Religion  and  the  Liberties  of 
England  I'"  said  Winifred.  "I  hope  it  may  be 


THE  PRINCE.  321 

well ;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  the  poor, 
unhappy  Duke  of  Monmouth." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  you  think  of  him  ;  but  this 
is  a  very  different  matter,"  replied  Lady  Peckham. 
"Monmouth  brought  with  him  no  such  troops  as 
these,  and,  besides,  he  had  not  a  shadow  of  right 
or  reason  upon  his  side.  The  very  proclamation 
he  put  forth  was  enough  to  have  ruined  his  cause 
with  all  reasonable  people.  But  look!  Who 
comes  here?  The  Prince  of  Orange  himself!" 

"  How  grave  and  thoughtful  he  looks !"  observed 
Paulina.  "One  would  not  think  he  could  ever 
smile." 

"  It  is  his  nature  to  be  grave,  and  even  gloomy, 
and  he  has,  besides,  had  much  in  his  life  to  make 
him  so,"  said  Lady  Peckham.  "Moreover,  his 
present  enterprise  is  one  which  may  well  cause 
him  to  look  grave.  He  has  aged  greatly  since  I 
saw  him  last,  but  he  had  always  that  austere  and 
settled  regard  even  as  a  young  boy." 

"See,  see!  What  is  that  old  dame  about?" 
cried  Winifred,  as  a  very  aged  woman  pressed 
through  the  crowd  towards  the  prince.  "  Oh,  Lady 
Peckham !  it  is  Dame  Oldmixon !  Do  you  not 
remember  her  ?" 

"  It  is  our  old  neighbor  indeed  !     I  fear  she  will 


322  WINTFEET. 

be  trampled  under  foot,"  said  Lady  Peckham 
"But  no,  the  crowd  makes  way  for  her!  She 
touches  the  prince's  hand  !  See,  he  speaks  to  her, 
and  smiles!  You  see  he  can  smile,  Paulina, 
and  very  brightly  too!  Poor  old  dame,  she  is 
thinking  of  her  son  and  husband  1" 

"What  of  them?"  asked  Paulina. 

"The  son  was  killed  at  Sedgemoor,  and  his 
father,  though,  I  believe,  perfectly  innocent  of  any 
share  in  the  rebellion,  was  put  to  death  by  Jeffreys. 
Winifred,  send  some  one  to  bring  the  poor  old 
woman  in,  and  give  her  some  refreshment.  She  is 
not  fit  to  be  abroad  in  this  press  and  crowd." 

The  messenger  was  sent,  and  returned  :  "  She 
will  not  come,  my  lady.  She  sends  her  grateful 
duty  to  you,  but  says  she  will  go  home  and  die, 
now  that  she  has  seen  the  deliverer  of  England." 

"We  will  find  her  out,  and  see  that  she  is  com-, 
fortably  provided  for,"  said  Lady  PeckLam.  "I 
heard  that  she  had  come  to  Exeter  to  live." 

After  the  prince  came  a  long  train  of  infantry, 
mostly  Swiss  soldiers  in  the  employ  of  the  Dutch 
government,  and  then  various  bands,  distinguished, 
as  was  the  fashion  of  those  times,  by  the  names 
of  their  leaders. 

"See    there,   Winifred!"   said  Lad}    Peckharn, 


THE  PRINCE.  323 

suddenly.  '*  Who  is  that  gentleman  with  tLe  fair 
Lair  and  mustache — there  on  the  black  horse? 
See  Alvvright!" 

"It  is  Master  Arthur!  It  is  ray  lord!"  cried 
Al wright,  in  great  excitement.  "  But  how  old  he 
has  grown,  and  what  a  great  scar  he  has  on  hi* 
cheek!" 

"  That  scar  came  from  a  Turkish  sabre,"  said 
Lady  Peckham.  "  Stop,  he  sees  us !  He  waves  hi? 
hat!" 

Arthur's  face  was  upturned,  and  his  eyes  were 
earnestly  perusing  the  crowds  of  ladies  in  thr 
windows  and  balconies.  All  at  once  he  started 
raised  his  hat,  looked  earnestly  at  the  group  in  the 
balcony,  and  then  waved  his  plumed  hat  once 
more,  with  a  smile  and  gesture  of  triumph. 

"  Is  that  my  cousin  ?"  asked  Paulina,  in  a  tone 
of  some  disappointment.  "  I  had  thought  him  a 
much  younger  man.  Did  not  you,  Winifred '?" 

"  He  looks  thin  and  very  brown,"  said  Winifred, 
commanding  herself  to  speak ;  "  but  I  do  not 
Vhink  he  has  grown  old  so  very  much,  considering 
all  he  has  gone  through." 

"Why,  did  you  ever  see  him  before?"  asked 
Paulina,  curiously.  "You  never  told  me  that  I 
What  an  odd  girl  you  are,  Winifred!" 


324  WINIFRED. 

Winifred  did  not  reply,  and  Lady  Peckliain  an- 
awered  for  her. 

Winifred  knew  my  brother  when  she  was  a 
little  girl.  I  hardly  know  whether  he  will  recog- 
nize her!" 

Winifred  said  nothing  ;  but  she  could  not  help 
thinking  that  Arthur  had  recognized  her,  and  that 
the  wave  of  the  hat  and  the  smile  were  for  her 
All  the  rest  of  the  pageant  passed  before  her  eyes 
like  a  dream,  and  she  was  only  glad  when  she 
could  escape  to  her  room,  and  be  alone  for  awhile 
to  collect  her  thoughts  and  compose  herself.  But 
she  could  not  be  spar*xi  long.  She  was  wanted 
here,  there,  and  everywhere  ;  for  the  house  was 
full  of  company,  and  Alwright  in  such  a  flurry 
and  fever  that,  as  she  herself  said,  she  did  not 
know  whether  she  was  on  her  head  or  her  heels. 
Winifred  must  set  out  the  cakes  and  sweetmeats, 
see  that  every  one  was  helped,  assist  the  ladies  to 
find  their  cloaks  and  hoods,  and  make  herself 
generally  useful.  At  last,  the  last  guest  departed, 
and  Winifred,  tired  in  body  and  wearied  with 
excitement  and  hope  deferred,  returned  to  Lady 
Peckham's  with  drawing-room.  There  was  no  one 
in  the  room,  and  Winifred  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 


THE   PRINCE.  325 

"  Oh,  give  me  strength !  Only  give  me  strength  1" 
was  her  prayer.  "  Let  rne  know  the  truth,  and 
give  me  grace  to  bear  it,  whatever  it  may  be !" 

The  door  opened,  and  Winifred  started  up,  to 
be  confronted  face  to  face  by  a  tall  figure  in  a 
colonel's  uniform.  The  two  looked  at  each  other 
for  one  moment.  Then  all  uncertainty  was  at  an 
end. 

"  Winifred,  my  own  Winifred,  you  have  not  for- 
gotten me  in  all  these  years  that  I  have  worn  your 
piece  of  gold  next  my  heart !" 

Lady  Peckham  had  heard  her  brother's  step, 
and,  hastening  to  meet  him,  had  been  just  in  time 
to  see  the  greeting. 

"Oho,  Master  Arthur!"  said  she  to  herself,  with 
a  smile,  "you  have  found  your  young  friend 
already,  have  you?  Well,  well,  better  Winifred 
than  some  others!  But  we  shall  see!" 

"  And  so  you  have  really  come  back  again  safe 
and  so  and,  Master  Arthur — I  mean,  my  lord," 
said  Al wright,  "from  the  Turks  and  all!  But  you 
have  got  an  ugly  scar  on  your  face !" 

"  Yes,  a  Turkish  janizary  spoiled  my  beauty  for 
me,"  replied  Arthur,   laughing,    "and  came  near 
doing  worse  ;  for  he  fired  his  pistol  at  me,  and  the 
ball  struck  me  just  here  above  my  heart  1" 
28 


326  WINIFRED. 

"Goodness  me!"  exclaimed  Alwright.  "Why 
did  he  not  kill  you?" 

"  Through  no  good  will  of  his,  I  assure  you.  I 
bore  a  charm  in  the  shape  of  a  certain  piece  of 
Moorish  gold  which  hung  round  my  neck  by  a 
chain  and  turned  the  ball !" 

"Well!"  said  the  sage  Alwright,  "say  what 
you  will,  I  shall  always  maintain  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  charms  and  amulets,  and  so  I  told  my 
brother  when  he  refused  to  wear  the  hare's  foot  I 
was  at  the  pains  to  provide  for  his  colic.  '  Depend 
upon  it,'  said  I,  '  there  is  more  in  such  things  than 
you  think!'  I  shall  just  tell  him  this  story  and 
see  what  he  has  to  say.  But  where  did  you  get 
your  charm,  Master  Arthur — I  mean,  my  lord?" 

"Oh,  that  is  a  secret!"  said  Arthur,  laughing. 
"If  I  should  tell  where  it  came  from,  the  charm 
would  be  spoiled." 

"  To  be  sure,  you  ought  not  to  tell,"  said  Al- 
wright. "I  always  did  hear  it  would  break  the 
epell  of  such  things,  and  you  may  need  its  help  yet 
—who  knows?" 

"Who  knows,  indeed?"  said  Arthur.  "I  trust 
this  same  amulet  of  mine  may  yet  bring  me  the 
greatest  blessing  of  my  life !" 


CHAPTER 


CONCLUSION. 

4  KTHUE'b  stay  in  Exeter  was  short,  but  be- 
L \.  fore  he  It  .t  he  had  sought  a  private  inter- 
view with  Wii  ifredj  and  asked  her  to  be  his  wife 
so  soon  as  th  >  troubles  should  be  settled.  "I 
have  always  ke^t  this  object  in  view,  ever  since  we 
parted  under  the  great  pear-tree  in  your  father's 
warden,"  said  he.  "  I  have  been  at  foreign  courts 
since  then,  and  seen  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  in  the  world.  I  have  been,  too,  in  scenes  of 
temptation  and  trial,  among  wild  and  dissolute  men, 
ar.d  women  still  worse  ;  but  your  face  has  always 
come  between  me  and  harm,  and  your  piece  of 
gold  has  indeed  been  a  talisman  which  has  kept 
me  from  many  a  sin.  Winifred,  will  you  be  my 
wifo?  I  can  promise  you  no  great  wealth — no 
court  //ayeties.  I  am  but  a  soldier,  and  my  fortunes 


328  WINIFRED. 

will  rise  or  fall  with  those  of  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
my  master.  At  best  I  shall  be  but  a  poor  lord, 
living  on  my  estate  in  Devonshire,  where  you  may 
follow  my  good  sister's  example  and  play  Lady 
Bountiful  to  tenants  and  cottagers  ;  but  if  you  are 
Biich  as  I  think  you,  tinch  a  lite  will  suit  you  bettor 
than  fluttering  at  court  or  in  the  parks." 

"  Yes,  indeed  I"  said  Winifred,  simply  ;  "  but 
what  will  my  lady  say?  I  am  but  a  yeoman's 
daughter,  you  know.  I  can  boast  no  gentle  blood, 
save  on  the  side  of  my  mother,  and  I  have  no 
great  fortune,  which  I  have  heard  sometimes  makes 
up  for  lack  of  long  descent.  I  can  do  nothing 
against  the  will  of  my  lady !" 

"I  believe  my  sister  will  make  no  objection," 
said  Arthur.  "  I  think  she  must  see  how  the  case 
stands.  But,  as  you  say,  we  owe  a  duty  to  her. 
She  has  been  almost  a  mother  to  me,  and  more 
than  a  mother  to  you.  We  will  do  nothing  with- 
out her.  But  the  matter  must  be  settled  speedily, 
lor  the  prince  may  move  any  day,  and  you  wot, 
sweetheart,  that  when  the  master  rides  the  man 
must  run." 

"Well,  well!"  said  Mrs.  Alwright  at  the  con- 
clusion of  a  private  conference  with  her  mistress, 
some  days  afterwards.  "  So  this  is  the  way  it  is  to 


CONCLUSION.  320 

turn  out!  I  never  would  allow  Mrs.  Winifred  to 
read  novels  01  plays,  but  I  don't  see  but  I  might  just 
as  well  have  done  so,  for  I  am  sure  nothing  more 
romantic  is  to  be  found  even  in  the  tales  of  King 
Arthur.  And  so,  all  the  time  I  was  thinking  perhaps 
he  may  take  a  fancy  to  his  cousin  Mrs.  Paulina,  he 
was  making  up  to  Mrs.  Winifred!  And  all  the 
time  I  was  teaching  Winifred  to  sit  straight  at  her 
frame  and  keep  her  head  well  up  and  her  chin 
under,  and  to  speak  and  carry  herself  like  a  lady,  I 
was  teaching  the  future  Lady  Carew — which  shows 
the  importance  of  doing  a  thing  well  while  ono  is 
about  it,"  moralized  Alwright,  "  as  I  shall  make  a 
point  of  telling  Mrs.  Paulina,  who  is  apt  to  slight 
her  work  and  not  fasten  her  threads  well.  And  so 
little  Winifred  Evans,  the  daughter  of  Magdalen 
Coffin,  is  to  stand  in  my  old  lady's  shoes  and  sit 
in  her  chair !  Well  well !" 

"You  think  my  mother  would  have  been 
shocked,"  said  Lady  Peckham  ;  "  yet,  as  I  was 
Baying  to  myself,  Winifred's  birth  and  breeding 
are  both  above  that  of  the  woman  to  whom  my 
mother  would  have  married  poor  Edward.  Do 
you  remember  when  she  came  down  to  the  Hall 
on  a  visit  ?" 

"Aye,  that  I  do!"  said  Alwright.  "How  she 
28* 


330  WINIFRED. 

bustled  in  her  silks  and  satins,  and  talked  loud,  and 
took  the  words  out  of  my  lady's  mouth  at  her  own 
table,  and  wondered  '  how  anybody  as  was  anybody 
could  abear  to  live  down  in  Devonshire  among  the 
savages.'  I  promise  you  it  was  a  bitter  pill  for 
my  lady,  despite  the  gilding  ;  though  she  would 
have  swallowed  it  for  all  that,  only  the  London 
lady  took  fright  at  poor  Master  Edward's  strange 
ways — for  he  was  strange  even  then.  But  little 
Winnie  Evans !  However,  niy  lady  is  not  here  to 
object,  and  will  know  nothing  about  it,  that  is  one 
comfort ;  and  even  if  she  does,  'tis  to  be  hoped  she 
has  learned  to  see  things  differently  by  this  time. 
And  when  is  the  wedding  to  be,  my  lady  ?" 

"That  we  cannot  say  exactly.  Much  depends 
upon  the  movements  of  the  prince.  Should  he  b6 
defeated  after  all,  I  suppose  my  brother  will  have 
to  go  abroad  once  more." 

"But  I  trust  he  will  not,  my  lady!  So  many 
gentlemen  are  joining  him  on  every  side.  Here 
are  Sir  William  Putman  and  Sir  Francis  Wane, 
and  so  many  others  flocking  to  him.  Exeter  is 
quite  like  a  court,  with  the  gentlemen  and  theii 
servants.  But  what  about  the  wedding  clothes, 
my  lady?  Should  not  Mrs.  Winifred's  linen  be 
got  in  hard?" 


CONCLUSION.  331 

"  O  yes,  whenever  you  please,"  said  Lady  Peck- 
ham,  smiling.  "  As  soon  as  things  are  a  little  more 
settled,  I  must  write  to  my  cousin  Judith  and  tell 
her  the  news.  It  is  but  her  due,  after  her  kindness 
to  Winifred,  and  I  presume  she  will  desire  to  do 
something  towards  her  outfit.  We  must  have 
them  all  here  for  the  wedding,  Alwright,  whenever 
it  takes  place." 

By  the  middle  of  February  the  English  Eevolu- 
tion  was  a  fixed  fact,  and  William  and  Mary  were 
settled  upon  the  throne  ;  but  it  was  not  till  the 
primroses  were  blossoming  in  the  green  lanes  of 
Devonshire  that  the  wedding  was  celebrated  in 
Exeter,  and  the  new  Lord  and  Lady  Carew  took 
possession  of  the  gray  old  mansion  house  which 
had  stood  shut  up  and  deserted  so  mary  years,  all 
but  the  few  rooms  inhabited  by  the  poor  madman 
and  his  keepers.  Winifred  was  in  no  hurry  to 
leave  her  dear  lady,  and  it  was  agreed  on  all  sides 
to  wait  till  such  time  as  would  be  decorous  for  the 
young  Corbets  to  put  off  their  mourning.  Great 
was  the  joy  and  exultation  of  good,  kind-hearted 
Lady  Corbet  on  the  occasion.  She  had  always 
known,  she  said,  that  Winifred  was  born  for  a 
great  lady,  and  she  was  as  pleased  tha,t  she  waa 
as  if  it  had  been  her  own  Paulina.  It  might  be 


332  WINIFRED. 

Pall's  turn  next,  perhaps  ;  but  the  girl  stuck  up 
her  nose,  forsooth,  and  declared  she  would  never 
marry.  She  would  live  with  Cousin  Margaret 
all  her  life,  unless  she  was  needed  at  home.  She 
had  no  fancy  at  all  for  the  men,  had  Pall,  and 
the  twins  were  far  more  excited  about  the  wedding 
than  their  elder  sister.  Meantime  half  the  seam- 
stresses in  Bristol  were  at  work,  under  her  direction, 
in  fulfilling  her  vow  that  whenever  Winifred 
married  she  should  have  a  setting-out  equal  to 
that  of  any  lady  in  the  land  ;  and  marvellous 
indeed  were  the  lace  and  fine  linen,  the  cut-work 
and  raised  work,  the  brocades,  and  cambrics,  and 
scented  gloves,  and  gold -fringed  gaiters,  and 
clocked  stockings,  which  Lady  Corbet  displayed  to 
Al wright's  admiring  eyes  on  her  ,arrival  at  Exeter 
a  few  days  before  the  wedding.  Sir  John  insisted 
upon  adding  to  Winifred's  little  fortune  the  sum 
he  had  originally  destined  for  her  dowry,  and  pre- 
sented besides  a  beautiful  set  of  jewels.  One 
other  present  Winifred  had  which  cost  her  a  fit 
of  crying.  It  was  from  Doctor  Mercer,  and  con- 
sisted of  a  case  containing  a  beautiful  and  costly 
Bible  and  Prayer-book. 

"Poor  m<vu,   he   is    sad    enough!"    said  Lady 
Corbet ;  "but  he  will  not  hear  any  one  say  a  word 


CONCLUSION.  333 

against  you,  for  all  that.  When  my  cousin  Norton 
began  to  say,  one  day,  that  doubtless  you  knew 
what  you  were  about,  that  you  had  feathered  your 
nest  well,  and  got  on  the  blind  side  of  my  lady,  for 
all  your  sain tlin ess — you  know  my  cousin  Norton 
never  can  abide  any  one  who  makes  any  profession 
of  godliness — I  think  she  feels  it  a  reproach  to 
herself,  poor  thing,  for  she  does  live  like  a  heathen, 
and  a  sad  grief  it  is  to  her  mother-in-law,  my 
Paulina's  godmother.  Well,  when  she  said  so, 
Doctor  Mercer  took  her  up,  and  I  promise  you  he 
soon  silenced  her !  I  could  wish  sometimes  that 
the  doctor  would  take  a  fancy  to  Pall,  but  I  doubt 
his  ever  marrying  now." 

The  rest  of  our  tale  is  soon  told.  Lord  and 
Lady  Carew  lived  on  their  estate  in  Devonshire, 
with  little  interruption,  save  when  Arthur  accom- 
panied the  king  to  Ireland  in  that  memorable 
campaign  which  resulted  in  the  Battle  of  the 
Boyue.  Winifred  was  the  same  in  prosperity  that 
she  had  been  in  adversity — calm,  brave,  religious, 
trusting  in  God  and  walking  daily  and  hourly  with 
Him,  doing  good  to  all  about  her.  She  found  a 
grandson  of  her  old  friend  Dame  Sprat  living  in 
great  poverty  on  the  outskirts  of  the  estate,  and 
had  the  happiness  of  placing  him  on  the  farm  of 


334  WINIFRED. 

his  grandfather,  where  he  did  credit  to  his  descent 
and  her  patronage.  She  revived  the  village  school, 
which  had  fallen  to  decay,  and  it  continues  to  do 
good  to  this  day,  the  girls  of  Lady  Carew's  school 
being  in  great  request  as  house-servants  and 
nursery-maids. 

Lady  Peckham  retained  her  house  in  Exetor, 
but  spent  many  months  of  every  year  with  Winifred 
in  the  home  of  her  childhood,  where  Alwright 
made  saffron-cakes  and  almond  pastys,  imparted 
wonderful  secrets  of  cooking  and  preserving  tc 
Lady  Carew  and  her  housekeeper,  and  had  the 
pleasure  of  introducing  little  Mrs.  Margaret  and 
Mrs.  Magdalen  to  the  mysteries  of  cross-stitch 
and  open-hem. 

Paulina  kept  her  word  about  remaining  single, 
and  living  with  cousin  Margaret.  Her  first  fancy, 
settled  upon  a  most  unworthy  object,  had  been 
cruelly  blighted,  and  she  never  had  a  second.  After 
Lady  Peckham's  death,  she  inherited  the  house  at 
Exeter,  where  she  had  always  with  her  three  or 
four  motherless  or  orphan  girls  whom  she  brought 
up.  Her  little  school  became  famous  for  the 
excellence  and  soundness  of  the  education  acquired 
under  her  charge,  and  she  could  have  filled  her 
house  many  times  over,  bux>  she  steadily  refused  to 


CONCLUSION.  335 

take  more  than  a  certain  number,  and  always  gave 
the  perference  to  those  who  had  no  mothers.  She 
was  effectually  assisted  by  Alwright,  who  retained 
her  faculties  unimpared  to  a  great  age,  and  could 
teach  cross-stitch  and  fine- darning  by  the  aid  of 
her  glasses  when  she  was  ninety  years  old. 

The  twins  often  visited  their  sister  and  "  cousin 
Winifred,"  as  they  delighted  to  call  Lady  Carew 
They  grew  up  useful,  well-educated  women,  and 
married  well  during  the  life-tiiiie  of  their  mother, 
thus  making  up  in  some  degree  for  Paulina's 
obstinate  single-blessedness. 

Nothing  more  was  ever  heard  of  Doctor  Butler, 
and  it  was  supposed  that  he  went  abroad.  Doctor 
Mercer  lived  and  died  in  Bristol,  where  he  had 
many  warm  friends  among  both  rich  and  poor, 
and  won  the  respect  of  all,  notwithstanding  his 
heretical  opinions  upon  the  subject  of  fresh  air 
and  cold  water.  Sir  John  and  Lady  Corbet  lived 
to  see  their  great-grandchildren,  and  died  respected 
and  loved  by  their  numerous  descendants,  and  all 
who  knew  them.  A  wife  was  found  for  black  Jack 
in  a  fine  young  negro  girl  brought  from  the  West 
Indies  ;  and  that  worthy  blackamoor  lived  to  be 
as  white-headed  as  his  old  master. 


OOKS. 


SEASON    OF    1888. 


MAKING    THE    BEST    OF    IT.     A  Boy's  Story. 
By  Rev.  EDWARD  A.  RAND,  author  of  "  Fighting  the  Sea," 
etc.     i2mo,  cloth.     $1.25. 
First  volume  of  the  "  Looking  Ahead  Series." 

EDWIN,  THE  BOY  OUTLAW  ;  or,  The  Dawn 

of  Freedom  in  England.   By  J.  FREDERICK  HODGETTS. 
i2mo,  cloth.     $1.50. 

IN  THE  DASHING  DAYS  OF  OLD  ;  or,  The 

World-Wide  Adventures  of  Willie  Grant.     By 
GORDON  STABLES,  R.N.     i2mo,  cloth.     $1.50. 

CITY  SNOWDROPS;  or,  The  House  of 
Flowers.  By  M.  E.  -WINCHESTER,  author  of  "Under 
the  Shield,"  "Cabin  on  the  Beach,"  etc.  i2mo,  cloth. 
$1.50. 

A  SON  OF  THE  MORNING.  By  SARAH  DOUDNEY, 
author  of  "Nothing  but  Leaves,"  etc.  121110,  cloth. 
11.25. 

HIS  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER.  By  AGNES 
GIBHRNE,  author  of  "The  Sun,  Moon,  and  Stars," 
"  Kathleen,"  etc.  12 mo,  cloth.  $1.50. 


New  York :   THOMAS  WHITTAKER,  2  and  3  Bible  House. 

i 


CHILDREN'S    BOOKS. 


THE     SHEPHERD'S     DARLING.     By  BRENDA, 

author  of  "  Froggie's  Little  Brother,' '  "  Nothing  to  No- 
body," etc.     i2mo,  cloth.     $1.25. 

BARNEY.  A  Soldier's  Story.  By  E.  A.B.D.,  author  of 
"Young  Ishmael  Convvay,"  "Us  Three,"  etc.  i2mo, 
cloth.  $1.00. 

LITTLE  GRANDPA.  By  M.A.C.,  author  of  "The 
Little  Episcopalian,"  "  Bessie  Melville,"  etc.  i2mo,  cloth. 
$1.00. 


WHITTAKER'S  HOME  IIBRARY. 

Handsome  121110  books,  fancy  cloth  binding.     Profusely 
illustrated.     Price,  $1.50  per  volume. 

I. 

ROMANCE  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.     Short  Chapters 
in  Natural  History.     By  J.  G.  WOOD. 

II. 

LEADERS   ONWARD  AND  UPWARD.     Brief 
Biographies  of  Noble  Workers.     By  HENRY  C.  EWART. 

III. 

ROUND   THE    GLOBE.      Through  Greater  Britain 
By  W.  C.  PROCTOR. 

OTHERS    IN    PREPARATION. 


New  York:    THOMAS  WHITTAKER,  2  and  3  Bible  House. 

2 


flCTION 

RECENTLY    ISSUED. 


BY  MRS.  MOLESWORTH. 

THE  PALACE  IN  THE  GARDEN.  By  Mrs.  MOLESWORTH, 
author  of  "Carrots,"  etc.  Illustrated  by  HARRIET  M.  BENNETT. 
I2mo,  cloth.  $1.25. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR   OF  " MLLE.  MORI,"  ETC. 

THE  FIDDLER  OF  LUGAU.  By  the  author  of  "The  Atelier, 
du  Lys,"  "  Mile.  Mori,"  etc.  Illustrated  by  W.  RALSTON.  i2mo, 
cloth.  $1.50. 

BY  HELEN  HAYS. 

THE  VILLAGE  MAID.    By  HELEN  HAYS.    Illustrated.    I2mo, 

cloth.     $1.25. 

"  It  is  a  sweet  and  healthful  story,  with  just  the  right  dashes  of  wholesome  young 
love  in  its  narration  to  interest  our  girls.  The  tale  runs  smoothly  and  is  perfectly 
told."—  The  Living  Church. 

BY  L.  T.  MEADE. 

INCHFAWN.  A  Tale  of  Irish  Life  and  Character.  By  L.  T 
MEADE.  121110,  cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

"  In  these  times,  when  Irish  national  affairs  are  the  great  absorbing  topic  in  English 
politics,  one  can  obtain  many  fine  glimpses  of  Irish  life  and  character  in  Miss  Meade's 
charming  story  of  '  Inchfawn.'  The  story  itself,  amid  the  flood  of  fiction  of  the  day,  is 
especially  worth  reading."  —  The  Press. 

BY  E.  A.  RAND. 

FIGHTING  THE  SEA;  or,  A  Winter  at  the  Life-saving 
Station.  By  Rev.  EDWARD  A.  RAND.  I2mo,  cloth.  Illustrated. 

$1.25. 

"  It  is  an  admirable  idea  to  combine  the  exciting  stories  of  adventure  that  all  healthy 
boys  love  to  read,  with  interesting  facts  about  the  noble  service  of  the  surfman  and 
patrolmen,  who  lead  such  a  hard  life  and  do  such  deeds  of  valor  and  humanity."  — 
The  Critic. 

A  Fine  Edition  for  Libraries  or  Presentation,  illustrated 
by  GORDON  BROWNE. 

ROBINSON  CRUSOE.  By  DANIEL  DEFOE.  Reprinted  from 
the  author's  edition,  1719,  with  103  illustrations  by  GORDON 
BROWNE.  Printed  from  new  plates.  595  pages,  thick  I2mo,  bound 
in  vellum  cloth,  with  a  very  striking  design  in  full  gilt.  Price,  $2.00. 


New  York :   THOMAS  WHITTAKER,  2  and  3  Bible  House. 
3 


tMrMnJ     ^nOTf^O     OT^ 
JSoW  ll>Lrrvt-^  Ur    i$> 

BY  THE  BEST  WRITERS  OF  STORIES  FOR  CHILDREN. 

NOTICE. 

HAVING  been  appointed  sole  agent  for  the  United  States  for  the 
publications  of  the  National  Society,  Westminster,  London,  Mr. 
THOMAS  WHITTAKER  begs  to  announce  as  now  ready,  the  following 
Juvenile  Books. 

The  National  Society,  in  beginning  the  publication  of  these  books, 
has  set  a  high  standard  of  literary  excellence ;  and  by  securing  the  best- 
known  authors  of  Children's  stories  the  Society  will  continually  add  to 
their  list,  always  aiming  to  issue  only  such  books  as  will  keenly  interest 
young  folks,  keeping  clear  of  the  namby-pamby,  goody-goody  style, 
while  exercising  a  helpful  influence  in  their  daily  lives.  The  series 
may  safely  be  depended  upon  as  being 

Books  of  Sterling  Worth 

especially  for   home  reading  and  libraries.    The  volumes   are  all 
illustrated  and  attractively  bound. 


SCAPEGRACE  DICK.  By  FRANCIS  MARY  PEARD,  author  of 
"The  Rose  Garden,"  "Mother  Molly,"  etc.  I2mo,  4  illustrations, 
cloth.  $1.05  net. 

"  A  thoroughly  wholesome,  hearty  book,  without  a  dull  chapter  or  an  improbable 
incident,  is '  Scapegrace  Dick.' " —  S.  S.  Times. 

PRENTICE  HUGH.  An  historical  story.  By  FRANCES  MARY 
PEARD.  I2mo,  6  illustrations,  cloth.  $1.05  net. 

FOR  HALF  A  CROWN.  A  story.  By  ESME  STUART, author 
of  "The  Little  Brown  Girl,"  "  Belfry  of  St.  Jude's,"  etc.  I2mo,  4 
illustrations,  cloth.  90  cents  net. 

A  PROMISE  KEPT.  By  MARY  E.  PALGRAVE,  author  of 
"  Under  the  Blue  Flag,"  etc.  4  illustrations,  cloth.  90  cents  net. 

A  LITTLE  STEPDAUGHTER.  By  the  author  of  "Mile. 
Mori,"  "  That  Child,"  etc.  I2mo,  illustrated,  cloth.  $1.05. 

UNCLE  IVAN;  or,  Recollections  of  Thirty  Years  Back.    By 

M.  BRAMSTON.     i2mo,  3  illustrations,  cloth.    75  cents  net. 
THE  HEROINE  OF  A  BASKET  VAN,     By  M.  BRAMSTON, 

author  of  '•  Rosamond  Ferrars,"  etc.     I2mo,~3  illustrations,  cloth. 

75  cents  net. 
GOLDHANGER    WOODS.     A  Child's  Romance      ByM.andC. 

LEE,  authors  of  "The  Oak  Staircase,"  etc.     i2mo,  2  illustrations, 

cloth,  60  cents  net. 

BOTHERS    IN    PREPARATION.  ~$% 


New  York:   THOMAS  WHITTAKER,  2  and  3  Bible  House. 
4 


TORIES. 


BY  MRS.  WILLIAM  J.  (HELEN)  HAYS. 


I. 

A    DOMESTIC    HEROINE.      A    Story    for    Girls. 
I2mo,  cloth.     $1.00. 

"  This  story  is  in  the  order  of  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney's  works,  and 
s  intended  especially  for  girls  in  their  teens.  .  .  .  The  story  is  a  very 
pleasing  one,  told  in  an  attractive  style."  —  The  Denver  Tribune. 

II. 

A   LOVING   SISTER.     A  Story  for  Big  Girls.    i2mo, 
cloth.     $1.00. 

"  Those  who  read  Mrs.  Hays's  pleasing  story  of  '  A  Domestic  Hero- 
ine '  will  be  glad  to  g'-eet  this  its  sequel." —  The  Living  Church. 

III. 

CASTLE    COMFORT.    A  Story  for  Children.    i2mo, 
cloth.     Illustrated.     $1.00. 

"  This  is  one  of  those  pleasant  stories  of  child-life  which  always  de- 
light the  little  people  of  a  family."  —  The  Independent. 

IV. 

CITY   COUSINS.    A  Story  for  Children.    12 mo,  cloth. 
Illustrated.     $1.00. 

"  In  '  City  Cousins '  we  have  a  daintily  told  story  by  Mrs.  W.  J. 
Hays,  who  has  the  '  open  sesame '  to  the  childish  heart.  Mrs.  Hays 
writes  well,  and  her  stories  always  have  a  purpose." —  The  Sunday- 
school  Times. 


New  York :  THOMAS  WHITTAKER,  2  and  3  Bible  House. 


1TORIES 

TO  BE  HAD  AT  ALL  THE  LIBRARIES. 


i. 

HER  GENTLE  DEEDS.  By  SARAH  TYTLER,  author 
of  "Citoyenne  Jacqueline,"  etc.  Just  ottt.  i2mo,  cloth. 

Illustrated.     $1.50. 

II. 

THE  STRENGTH  OF  HER  YOUTH.   By 

SARAH  DOUDNEY.     121110,  cloth.     Illustrated.     $1.25. 

III. 

OLDHAM;  or,  Beside  all  Waters.  By  LUCY 
ELLEN  GUERNSEY.  121110,  cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

"Her  story  is  pleasant,  her  description  of  characters  and  places 
excellent,  and  her  lessons  pure  and  good."  —  The  Christian  at  Work. 

IV. 

THE  HOME  OF  FIESOLE.  A  Story  of  the  Times 
of  Savonarola.  12 mo,  cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.25. 

"  It  is  an  intensely  interesting  story  of  Savanarola  and  his  times, 
which  it  wouid  profit  any  one  to  read."  —  Sunday  Gazette  (Akron,  O.). 

"  Skilfully  wrought,  and  full  of  beauty  and  historic  interest."  —  The 
New  York  Observer. 

V. 

HEROES  OF  ANCIENT  GREECE.  A  Story  of 
the  Days  of  Socrates  the  Athenian.  By  ELLEN  PALMER. 
1 2 mo,  cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.25. 

"  A  pleasant  love  story  of  the  Peloponnesian  War.  The  social  and 
political  manners  of  Athens  and  Sparta  are  well  depicted.  There  is 
ft  little  of  Herodotus,  something  of  Thucyclides  and  Xenophon,  a 

•ouch  of  Greek  religion,  philosophy,  and  Socrates." —  The  Literary 

World. 


New  York :  THOMAS  WHITTAKER,  2  and  3  Bible  House. 


1TORIES 

TO  BE  HAD  AT  ALL  THE  LIBRARIES. 


i. 
M/SS  CHARLOTTE  M.  YONGE'S  NEW  STORY. 

UNDER  THE  STORM  ;  or,  Steadfast's  Charge. 
By  CHARLOTTE  M.  YONGE,  author  of  "  The  Heir  of  Red- 
clyffe,"  etc.  i2mo.  Illustrated.  Uniform  with  the 
standard  edition  of  Miss  Yonge's  Novels  and  Tales. 
$1.50. 

Miss  Yonge's  latest  story  is  an  historical  romance  of  the  times  of 
the  Cavaliers  and  Roundheads.  It  is  full  of  the  interest  and  force 
for  which  this  popular  writer  is  so  widely  noted. 

II. 

FIGHTING  THE  SEA ;  or,  A  Winter  at  the 
Life- Saving  Station.  By  Rev.  EDWARD  A.  RAND. 
1 2 mo,  cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.25. 

A  capital  story  of  heroism  and  adventure,  for  young  folks,  by  a 
popular  author. 

III. 

INCHFAWN.  A  Story.  By  L.  T.  MEADE.  i2mo, 
cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

A  very  charming  story  of  Irish  life  and  character. 
IV. 

WOODLAND  TALES.  By  JULIUS  STINDE,  author 
of  "  The  Buchholz  Family."  121110,  cloth.  $1.00. 

CONTENTS:  Aunt  Juliana;  His  Stupid  Wife;  Brother  Johannis ; 
Three  Times  Ten  Years  ;  Bello  ;  Princess  Goldhair. 

V. 

HER  GENTLE  DEEDS.  By  SARAH  TYTLER,  author 
of  "Citoyenne  Jacqueline,"  etc.  i2mo,  cloth.  Illus- 
trated. $1.50. 

VI. 

THE  STRENGTH  OF  HER  YOUTH.   By 

SARAH  DOUDNEY.     12 mo,  cloth.     Illustrated.     90  cents. 


New  York;  THOMAS  WHITTAKER,  2  and 3  Bible  House. 


STORIES  TO  BE  HAD  AT  ALL  THE  LIBRARIES. 

VII. 

OLDHAM  ;  or,  Beside  all  Waters.  By  LUCY 
ELLEN  GUERNSEY.  i2mo,  cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

"  The  story  is  uncommonly  pretty,  and  winningly  told ;  and  it  is 
full  of  timely  hints  to  summer  visitors,  with  reference  to  the  good 
they  may  do  while  staying  in  the  country."  —  -  The  Times. 

VIII. 

THE  HOME  OF  FIESOLE.  A  Story  of  the  Times 
of  Savonarola.  i2mo,  cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.25. 

"  It  is  an  intensely  interesting  story  of  Savonarola  and  his  times, 
which  it  would  profit  any  one  to  read."  —  Sunday  Gazette  (Akron,  O.). 

"  Skilfully  wrought,  and  full  of  beauty  and  historic  interest." —  The 
New-York  Observer. 

IX. 

HEROES  OF  ANCIENT  GREECE.  A  Story  of 
the  Days  of  Socrates  the  Athenian.  By  ELLEN  PALMER. 
i2mo,  cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.25. 

"  A  pleasant  love  story  of  the  Peloponnesian  War.  The  social 
and  political  manners  of  Athens  and  Sparta  are  well  depicted.  There 
is  a  little  of  Herodotus,  something  of  Thucydides  and  Xenophon,  a 
touch  of  Greek  religion,  philosophy,  and  Socrates." —  The  Literary 
World. 


A    POPULAR    SERIES. 

"Mr.  Thomas  Whittaker  is  publishing  a  'Half-Hour  Library  of 
Travel,  Nature,  and  Science.'  It  is  handsomely  gotten  up  and  illus- 
trated. Among  the  volumes  are  '  Half-Hours  in  Field  and  Forest,' 
and  •  Half-Hours  with  a  Naturalist,'  by  the  Rev.  J.  G.  Wood;  '  Half- 
Hours  in  the  Holy  Land/  by  Norman  Macleod,  etc.  It  is  a  most 
interesting  series,  and  is  especially  adapted  to  young  people.  It  will 
give  them  both  pleasure  and  profit."  —  The  Press. 

HALF -HOURS  WITH  A  NATURALIST.  Rambles 
near  the  Shore.  By  Rev.  J.  G.  WOOD,  M.A.  Over  100  fine 
woodcuts.  I2mo.  $1.50. 

HALF-HOURS  IN  FIELD  AND  FOREST.  Chapters 
in  Natural  History.  By  Rev.  J.  G.  WOOD,  M.A.  Over  100 
fine  woodcuts.  I2mo.  $1.50. 

HALF-HOURS  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND.  Travels  in 
Egypt,  Palestine,  and  Syria.  By  NORMAN  MACLEOD,  D.B, 
Over  i oo  fine  woodcuts.  121110.  $1.50. 


New  York :  THOMAS  WHITTAKER.  2  and  3  Bible  House. 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


X  . 

i 

-i-U 

• 

RETURN         CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
TO^^"        Main  Library  •  198  Main  Stacks 

LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS. 

Renewls  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the  due  date. 

Books  may  be  Renewed  by  calling  642-3405. 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

ft  f  V    '1      M    "  ^  '"*•'"' 

viAT  i    ?    i^-u 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
FORM  NO.  DD6                                                    BERKELEY  CA  94720-6000 

:"*£mm3¥. 

,!i,,£«?.HKELEY  LIBRARIES 


